The friends of my friends are my friends and are visiting, and we connect and talk and eat and grow and walk and sing and crochet in sunlight . . . . . . You recognize good souls when your heart is instantly at ease, they praise your burned, gelatinous blob of brown rice, and […]
And just that fast, another year of school days, endless weeks of wind, and many months of puppy barks, cottonwoods, knocking pipes, thunderstorms, and irrepressible life slowly closes. I love them, and I will see them next August, all of them taller, grown, with more limbs, and fewer teeth. – – – – – – – – […]
. . . I always wonder what the men and women who used to live here – those who leave the pot sherds and arrowheads, those whom I imagine brown and tough, skin leathered from grinding corn and climbing rocks – thought when they saw the rare and lovely scenes the sky sometimes blesses us […]
Shiprock is a lava plug – the throat of an old volcano now eroded – that rises 1,500-feet out of the northwestern New Mexico desert. It’s a very important place, religiously and culturally, for the Navajo people here. In the Diné language, it is called Tsé Bit’a’í, which translates to something like “winged rock,” I think. […]
There are tiny, fragrant yellow flowers blooming on bushes along the road I’ve walked a hundred times. In the strong, spring wind they bustle about, and their scent – something like jasmine and lilac combined, but more pungent, punched with desert – intoxicates you until there is only summer and mountain crests and the sound […]
