I waited until almost 5:30 to walk, but it was no use: the clouds just weren’t cooperating, and I had to walk all the way up and down the mesa in the sun. The temperature was 82 °F, but at this altitude, you’re microwaved. Toward the end I was pausing in the shadows of the big junipers by the side of trail, panting like a deer.
Here at the fulcrum of the summer of 2011, everything is different. No pots of flowering geraniums outside, no salad greens, no garden at all. What with hauling ass to Arizona and being gone so much, it never came together. That’s really different, almost like a declaration. The time has come to leave this place, but nothing opens up. We haunt the Craigslist ads, the local paper, briefly scan the bulletin boards. Around the state, New Mexico burns. This evening we could smell the smoke again.
And yet, the day was beautiful. This morning we hung up sheets to dry down by the acequia. Driving home later after an errand, I drank in the brilliant blue, the pure white clouds, and perfect clarity. The air was like a crystal chime. I felt especially conscious of my words and didn’t want to say much. Too much being said by others as it is, I thought to myself. Sometimes we just have to coast, and so I did.
My wife called just now to say that she was turning out her light.
I went into the bedroom and lay down on the cool sheet beside her. Fresh air flowed in through the window and the open screen door. I held her for a long moment with my cheek pressed against hers. She smelled like fresh flowers in the spring.
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Sigh