Coming home tonight after it was dark the skies were clear and starry, even Venus was bigger and brighter than usual hanging low over the San Juans. But I could see the outline and barely discernible glow of storm clouds stretched across Blanca Peak just above our house. When I pulled in, the wind was whipping the trees and tumbleweed around and as I unloaded the van and walked across the dark driveway I got a mental scent of summer evenings that was so sweet and emotional it caught me off guard.

Valley winters are an all-senses-engaged experience one doesn’t easily forget — or once you’ve experienced one, want to. And the surprise snowstorm this weekend was beautiful, even moreso because it was gone without a trace by noon the following day. But it’s nice to stand out there in the middle of nowhere and nothing and welcome the warm, fast, wild, wicked winds of a valley spring back again.

Posted by tee in sense of place
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Posted by tee in photos, sense of place
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…your morning commute conversation (through dust devils and tumbleweed and sun shadows) goes like this:

Me: “We should probably check the personal mailbox on our way in or out one day soon.”
Him: “Well, I only checked it about three or four weeks ago…”
Me: “Ah, ok.. good.”

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Nanook and I walked today, coming across various birds and deer and chipmunks for which he showed playful interest but no aggression, something Kenya would’ve have trouble with. My lens cap, attached with small string, clacking along against my camera tied to my hip - news to any nearby bears or mountain lions that we were passing through.

Maybe one of the best parts of the high desert are the sounds that never let you forget where you are. My favorite of those: the crunch under my feet, walking over rocks and twigs and cactus needles and dried grasses and berries.

There must have been a sweet memory from way back in the dark corners of my history that involved crunching underfoot, because when it comes to walking and hiking and what I get out of it, even more than fresh air and movement and some days, only some days, even the sun on my face, it’s the sound of my feet making small impressions on the ground as I go that connects me with it most.

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It was one of those early evenings when you pull in the driveway and the stars are already out despite that you promised yourself you’d be home by sunset. And you sit there in the car for a minute after you shut the engine off and you’re not sure why.

When you get inside, you slip your boots off and the sigh floats around the room to every living thing in it, and then you notice the dogs got into the trash again, mad that you were gone so long. And between that and putting groceries away and sitting down to cold, leftover chicken lo mein and fried rice for dinner while you do just a few last things to tie up loose ends from the office and your partner is no help because he’s doing all the same things you are, right down to the shoes and the sigh, directly across from you.

Only he’s got szechuan chicken.

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