Tuesday, December 29, 2015

silence












I've always loved winter. The silence, the softness. The days between Christmas and the New Year, when everything is still and dark, as if waiting for the signal to emerge with new hopes and dreams.

Snow fell in New Mexico over the weekend. The ones in the know said to stay off the roads. There was wind and ice and we in the desert are not equipped to deal with the winter conditions.

I stood outside last night in the cold and dark of winter. And for the first time, I heard no traffic. No racing cars. No horns. Nothing. It was peaceful in the city.

I love to hold this stillness as long as I can, to gather its knowledge and its strength before I venture into the new year.

What preparations do you make? What dreams do you have?

Do you stand outside, in the stillness of night, and feel the snow on your face?

Monday, November 30, 2015

in love with a hard land












Everything it throws at me. Everything it teaches me. Everything holy I see, find, hold in my hand. Everything I return to the earth, grateful for the lesson learned.

(I've kind of checked out lately, as I wade through the soul-sucking process of sorting my mom's belongings. Learning things I never knew about her. Sometimes feeling I am violating such a private and intimate space. Giving up and then returning to the boxes and mountain of memories. And in the midst of it all, I spot a small, purple heart-shaped rock that falls from a box of her things.)

But on this late fall day, when the sun starts to set and the shadows lengthen along my mesa, I know why I continue to return to this place. It gives me hope. It makes me believe. It grounds me.

I am hopelessly in love with this crazy, wild land.

Friday, November 20, 2015

snowsnowsnow









(Stormy.)

 (Stormy's habitat.)


The week started out with blue skies, long views, amazing finds, (more on that later), and temps in the upper 50's. But by the end of the week, things took a turn and the snow started to fall!

Never discouraged by a little weather, we headed out to the mesa the morning after the snowstorm.
Everything was blue and white. Serene. Peacefully frozen, for just a moment.

By the time we reached the mesa and found a passable road into the sage, the snow had disappeared and the wind picked up. My husband, the dogs, and I hiked across the sage flats, watched the next storm build, and found "Stormy", my newest little mesa-dwelling friend.

As I walked, low, dark clouds rolled in on the west side of the mesa. I stood in awe, felt the storm inch closer. The wind shifted. Snowflakes began to fall. Stormy and I made our way back to the truck, down the road, and off the mesa.

To be continued....

Wednesday, November 11, 2015

the path we take












Fall down on my knees mystical. Sometimes muddy. Always smelling of sweet sage. I love this life.

Tuesday, October 27, 2015

me and moose











This is my golden oak forest....guarded by deer and wild turkeys and home to the carved aspen memorial to Moose. This is the place where the path winds through the forest till it meets the rocky soul of the mountain.

This is the path I walk.

The deeper into the heart of the forest I wander, the closer I get to the trees and the farther I get from that outer me, that me that everyone sees.
The path into the woods makes me think about life.
I think about everything I've left behind and everything I've gained in the process of letting go.
I think about Moose....how someone lovingly carved their grief into the bark of an aspen after the dog was buried among the roots of the tree. I believe Moose had a good life.
And I think about the house we cannot seem to find up here and how a dear friend told me "don't push the river" but all I want to do is jump in and swim until I find that perfect house, that piece of land that speaks to me.

Yet, as I stand among the trees, surrounded by stained glass aspen and oaklight, I know that on this day, at this moment, it is exactly where I should be.