Archive for July, 2004
. . . . . .
The sky is blue at night, like cotton in mouthwash.
Isn’t that curious? That blue is for the sun, he said..
but Santa Fe isn’t listening and see? Now some
purple, that’s more like a sunset. Only lightning
changes it back and forth and sticks its tongue
out on the horizon, where you and I should be
playing (don’t you want to?), tripping over rocks
and lighting fire to our feet with hot sage still
smoldering from the daylight. Our tan, sweaty
arms intertwined and dancing, nobody but the
coyotes to laugh at us and maybe we’d find
old mailboxes, and sit on pale dirt to read hundred
year old letters to each other, our toes wiggling
with bugs, chewing on our hair and watching the
stars pop out like chicken pox.
“Bring your pillow, child”, the cactus might have said. I
don’t remember, it was too long after the pink.
Posted by tee in favorites, verse
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slow sailing through spring
I rolled around in bed this morning and realized that, assuming I live until about age 90, I’m in the April of my life. My list is long. I better get to work on it.
Posted by tee in de la vida
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sunglasses in the basket by the door
At 5:20 a.m. this morning, I tried to photograph the moon as it was dropping over the Ortiz range. It was just light enough out to make out the details of the trees and features, with the lights of Lamy, or maybe it was Galisteo, twinkling on in the distance.
But the moon was far too big and bright, hanging just above the ridge line, and made me choose between it and the details beneath it. And because a holistic image was the point, I gave up the idea of a good exposure and we just stood there with our cold morning feet and admired it. Then went back to bed.
We should head into town today. I’ve got a book to mail, and I need a little relief from the local market prices. Our yard has been mysteriously transformed into a living life-skills workshop for baby birds, lizards and rabbits. No rain forecast for the next week. But our rain barrels are overflowing.
Next time you’re in the desert and come across a dead, dry cactus skeleton… think about why it’s beautiful.
Posted by tee in de la vida, sense of place
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