Coyote Crossing

Paleontology

[Time to haul this one out of the archives, what with all the targazing I’ve done the last couple days.]

Paleontology

“What is it that sets us apart,” she asked,
“from sunset or sierra?
What is the line between ourselves
and the terrain from

Taos 3

Coyotes sing just outside my window. I awake. It isn’t a dream. The dogs take off after them, singing joyous outrage. The sheep must be protected. Hazel the little goat has broken her leg somehow, and my host will cart her down to the vet in an

Taos 2

The rough wood deck feels good against my thighs, sun-warmed in afternoon. A yellow leaf from a cottonwood lands on my knee. I let it stay. My old workboots look good against the duff. There’s motion across the toe of the left one: an elongated

Taos 1

There were two trees here, once; twin and slender boles straining together toward the light, leaves feeding on sun and their branches broadening. Each bole bore a canopy of heart-shaped leaves brilliant yellow in October. Each canopy turned a

Letters from the desert: Back

...and then off again, heading south to watch election coverage with The Raven. But I wanted to report that my Taos pal got great news: no sign of metastasis and expectation of full recovery. Go Team Us! More soon, and thanks to all of you who

Letters from the desert: While I’m in New Mexico

Heading to Santa Fe tomorrow to accompany my pal to doctor’s appointments and such. My feeling for this place is surprisingly intense. I will be distilling said feeling into writing over the next couple days. Until I do so, take a look at this

Cargo Cult logic

“You know,” I said to my old friend, “I’ve been thinking.” She was in a better mood than the last time we’d talked. The news had sunk in, I guess, for bad and good, and she was chuckling again, and we were chatting more or less happily. Eight years