… and I’ll say it again. I’ve not lived anyplace that required one to live so close to nature as New Mexico. Big Bend in Texas was elemental also, but not like this. New Mexico, at this altitude (7500’), loves to be dramatic. Rarely is weather gentle here. The Sun crackles and cooks like a chicken in a rotisserie. When it rains, it slashes and soaks. Snow, often pounds wet, heavy and hard. Today’s wind is ripping, shredding, tearing through trees, wooden doors, stored canvas umbrellas, taking tools and patio furniture with it. The sound roars down the flue. The grit filters through the windows. Walking out in it, you feel as if God is reaching his hands down and shoving you around, like a toddler with a wooden car. Or like a bully who pushes you, purposely trying to make you irate.

It’s not all bad. Dare I say I enjoy the smell of fresh earth, the grit that’s blown in my face? Spring is around the corner, and these winds presage it all.

If I sniff enough of the grit, maybe I’ll sprout too.