Our evening walk. New Mexico skies are spectacular.
There's been a hint of fall in the air. The deep night sky glitters with stars. Mornings are cool, bordering on chilly. I stand outside the portal's edge, in the sand, sipping a mug of yerba mate, and scan the cottonwoods along the bosque below, looking for the tell-tale tinge of gold.
Soon they will be yellow, a golden trail north that snakes along the Chama River. It will be time for stacking pinon to burn in the kivas. I relish the warmth of the cozy fires to come, the evenings spent wrapped in thick sweaters reading, sipping cognac.
And for the first time in years I am not dreading winter.
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And for the first time in years I am not dreading winter.
