Stones Speak

lava speaks of the rage

of the mountain’s birth

while the seamed granite

speaks of the silence

that followed

I love the Native American idea that stones speak, that they instruct us through their ancient intimacy with the earth. I spend a lot of time hunting for rocks, studying them, trying to listen to them. Rocks are great conversationalists. They're imposing without being condescending, informative without being overbearing, quietly witty without trying to force their charm on the listener.

They bear the marks of unimaginable heat and aeons of wind. Here in the San Luis Valley, which once held a large lake, many rocks also show the softly persistent wear of water. The stones speak of silence, patience and immutable resistance to the elements. Their seams and fissures are like mute mouths; their pock marks are like the scars on a well worn face.

Granite Man

Granite man

lost the urge to be herded

takes shelter in a tin trailer

buries his bottles

sleeps with a gun.

No one has lived in this trailer for years, but I'm fascinated by its nonexistent inhabitant, whom I picture as a grizzled misanthrope. The dogs love to wander around on this property, which was once someone's unauthorized junkyard. There's still a corral and some old sheep sheds to the west of the trailer. Blanca towers over the abandoned trailer, turning this tiny shelter into a thimble.

The Invisible Life of Mountains

Gems from the Road

I once dyed my hair

the rich red of a bloodstone

now the roots are gray

and I dig gems from the road --

quartz, obsidian and granite.

Captivity

snow rims the fence

coffee in a chipped white cup

coyote underground

Frost covers the fence this morning in long, furry crystals, creating a delicate barrier across the wire. Fence upon fence, we create our own captivity.

Blood Sky

Along the dark cloud path

a lifetime sentence begins

as a dead man's blood

rises to the horizon

to paint the sinking sky

Today is the anniversary of a murder that I can't seem to forget. I didn't know anyone involved in the crime, but the circumstances haunt me. Memories of my own mistakes, the rancid emotions and overblown fears. After the murderer was sentenced a couple of months ago, we had a series of flawless sunsets in the Valley, absolutely cloudless, with yellow gradients giving way to blue, and I felt that in some way, these skies held a gift of serenity for the man who died so violently.

La Culebra

winter sun

warms the stone snake

La Culebra despierta

This mountain range is known as la Culebra. In this pale dawn light, on an icy December morning, it really does look like a snake warming itself in the sun. As the sun rises, its light seems to illuminate the mountains from within. Today will be a good sun day; we'll have plenty of heat and power.