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New Mexico Springing

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  We’re having a real Spring.   The air is often cool in the evenings. We can sleep with the windows open. The mornings dawn gentle, orange or pink in the eastern sky, with nary a breeze before it. Afternoon clouds usher in a welcome sprinkle, or rainstorm for the lucky few, while the flowers, what seems like every single plant, are exploding with color, heavy laden in bloom. Reaching to the vibrant sun they seem to express the gratitude I feel.    I am not misremembering previous Springs. This is all so not like the New Mexico I know.   Monsoon typically begins mid-June (if we’re lucky,) not May, and carries on into September. Predictably, every Spring, flowers make their appearance but carpets of flowers? Fields of yucca? Blankets of Blanket Flower? Not like this year. The Algerita bushes are yellow bombs of sweetness, their tiny blooms full of promises of tiny, red Autumn berries bursting with goodness. My dogs took a moment to smell the first early blooms of...
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Timing..is it everything?

This late afternoon is hushed.  Only the distant chirping of the house finch and the occasional fly interrupt the stillness, the absolute peace, a true moment of…. ? A pause? …An actual breath, a breath of which I am aware of drawing.   All this I know because I am sitting on my porch for the first time since last, late September and I am listening. I am basking.   What’s happening outside is not  at all like the bubbling that is happening on my stove. The linguini, the masala sauce, that I am preparing  act as if the world is coming to an end in 11 minutes, all boiling and, bubbling, and timed to explode. All. At. Once.   My timing is perfect.   I take pride in my timing.   Pride goeth before the fall.   I turn away from the stove and see that  C aesar  threw up on the floor. He  look s  so downcast. He  is  so sad , hang dog, droopy ears,  as if he expect s  me to chastise him. It’s the first time in ...
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Walking With Birds

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                                                      Walking With Birds If the only thing I’ve done these last ten years  is to make friends with the raven,  to recognize her voice in the breathless cacophony of the desert highlands,  the way her call sounds like a rascador; the mallet excavating the ridges  of a carved wood-like gourd,  or the way she perches atop the telephone pole,  lifts her shoulders, spreads her wings,  leans into her yell at my dogs, the challenge,  teasing, warning, “Come chase me! Come get me! I’ll peck off your nose!” And if the only thing I’ve learned is the screech of the nighthawk  and the buzz of her wings as she dives the evening sky;  a drone sized dive bomber heading straight towards the ground,  pulling up sharply, just-in-time, again and a...
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When It Rains….

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                            When It Rains, It’s Stoneleigh It was a lumbering house. Built of rock and mortar, and afterthoughts of post and beam, it sat on the side of the mountain at the edge of Pike National Forest within the bounds of the tiny town of Shawnee, Colorado. The wrap-around porch was screened in and held firewood boxes, porch swing, couch, and an 8 point elk trophy that was missing it’s left eye. The balcony, exposed to the elements, was our mother’s favorite hangout.  There she smoked cigarettes and drank wine in the evenings while gazing out to Fitzsimmon’s Lake and hearing the distant cries of the children, “Ollie, Ollie, oxen free;” the eldest boys called to the younger five the code that the game of hide-and-seek was over. Sometimes, as a five-year-old girl, hiding from my siblings in the dark under a wild rose bush near the back entry stairs, where the only light available came from t...
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If today were the last day   If today were the last day I’d set my alarm for 4 o’clock and linger in bed in the dark. I would run my fingers across the quilt that my girlfriend gave me feeling the stitching between my fingers, smelling the fabric, remembering the day of the gift.   If today  were  the last day I would take my thyroid pill  and drink celery juice . I would set the kettle to boil  and  turn on NPR . I would brush my teeth and brew my tea and sit on the couch with P o   to  cuddle under the quilt that my girlfriends gave me   a week after my husband told me he wanted a divorce .   I would watch the sun breach the horizon and dress the sky in her flaming morning robes of pinks and reds and golds and feel her warm embrace.   If today were the last day I would take my dogs on their walk. I would let them off lead and roam farther than we normally do and give them extra treats. I would notice the way the sun sparkles ...
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And Then There Were Four; the addition of a cactus wren

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                                       And Then There Were Four; the addition of a cactus wren   There’s a bird sitting in my planter, inside my house on the window sill in the south facing window. The planter is home to a  three-year-old basil plant, a gift from Claire, and a one-year-old mint, which is attempting to overtake everything else; basil and bird.    Mint is like that.   But the bird, a cactus wren, is oblivious to the overtures of the mint. She’s the newest addition to the home and the least demanding; barely a breath, she is, in the little planter on the windowsill in my tiny home.   Po, the little pooch, is enamored with her. Every time the wren shakes her feathers, every twenty minutes or so, he perks up.    “What’s that? There it is again! I wanna see, wanna,...
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                                                                                     Summer’s Escapade                                                                         Yesterday I walked the dogs.    This is a normal part of my routine no matter where I am; the mountains or suburbs of Colorado, at my own home or while I am house sitting for my clients.   My clients always have pets to care for and it is understood by everyone that I bring my dogs with me when I am on the job. It’s part of the package; my...
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