September Sky

One windless morning,

mounds of golden rabbitbrush

below mounds of cloud.

Greenhouse Tomatoes

Dipping and pouring

I water the tomatoes

with a warm glass jar.

Dirt Road

Taking the dirt road

instead of the new highway

we cross paths with crows. 

When we first moved to Blanca Flats, I thought I'd never be able to deal with the three miles of rutted dirt that lead from Highway 160 to our house. I didn't know then that the roads are graded at least a couple of times a month by huge, dinosaur-like machines, making the washboard effect slightly less jarring. I also hadn't learned to appreciate the fact that the wind carves those ruts in the roads the way it leaves ripples on the surface of water. 

Highway 160 -- broad and freshly paved -- is relatively new. At one time, the primary route from the town of Blanca to Alamosa was a dirt road called Estrella. Estrella still exists, winding all the way to Alamosa (by far the largest city in the Valley, with a population of around 9,000). Estrella is still somewhat of a thoroughfare for locals who don't feel like dealing with the super-sized RVs or out-of-state drivers who are just passing through. 

I love driving around on the dirt roads now, admiring the self-built hybrid homes and trailer compounds. I love the road signs out stuck in the middle of nowhere, like some rural existentialist's idea of a joke. I love driving fast and sending up a long tail of dust when the road's just been graded. And I love the way the crows insist on sailing in front of my car at a stately pace, their black wings scissoring the air. 

Rosh Hashanah

September new year

a northeast wind pelts my cheek

with winter's sharp seeds. 

After a long string of balmy days, a slap of winter. Sunday the southwest wind coasted over the flats like a breeze caressing the ocean; Monday her northeastern sister took over and brought currents of bone-chilling cold. A rain laced with dust from the potato harvest spattered the windows all day as the wind beat at the roof. By afternoon the sun returned, and the clouds lifted to reveal a thick cloak of snow along the spine of the Culebra. 

Dawn Light

This view of Blanca at dawn reminds me of one of my favorite Mary TallMountain poems.

Bright Shining

Companion to me in every place,
You stretch your hand: I see
Majesties of mountains
Crowned with living light.

Your arm flings wide: I see
Wild little islands wrapt in fog
Grey luminous; hidden folds
Of emerald and ermine earth.

I fly free clean through glowing
Cat's eye aquamarine
Filled with light air breath

Swaddled in this cocoon
This dense and lifeless mass
Yet weightless I
soaring with it shall be for you

Light bright shining


by Mary TallMountain
The Light on the Tent Wall
Los Angeles: University of California, 1990

August Shadows

Clouds over granite --

suddenly your face appears

in August's shadows.

I haven't written any new haiku since August. I guess I've been in a survival mode, trying to finish my reflexology program while scraping together enough income to keep things going. But I also believe that poetry and photography are also necessary for survival; maybe that's why I've had such a deep sense of fatigue lately. I want to be able to stop worrying about money, bills, taxes, etc., but I also need to start writing poems and stories again, and taking walks with my camera the way I used to.