No Recipe

Energy pulses beneath me as swells rise and then drop into troughs and then rise again into a breaking wave that rushes foaming up to the shore. I try to figure out how to do this, how to catch that wave, to learn how to ride it rather than roll and tumble into the sand when it crashes over me. I listen, puzzle out the methods that others have used to master the challenges that never seem to end. I watch and learn and practice. I pay attention and work to assimilate what I need to know to rise and master the chaos. "There is no recipe," he says. "But you have to learn from the masters and then practice." I have to jump in, mess it up, wrestle with all of it: painting, music, writing, love, money, dying. No recipe I think. At first I don't like that irrefutable fact and try to copy what others have done before me. But then I surrender, seize the scruff of light that pulses around and within, and then I release the brakes of reluctance, hesitation, and fear. It's one of a kind, this ride, and there ain't no way to know where it goes or how to ride it unless you jump on in and make it up.

Spring Comes to the High Desert

Spring has begun its return to El Morro. The canyons here on the Colorado Plateau are running cold and high with snow-melt; waterfalls thunder away in the deep woods. Ramah Lake is filling up, and snow drifts are shrinking into the shadows on the north side of Inscription Rock.

George noticed the first fly of the season on a hike around the lake. A family of flycatchers arrived on the same day and began building a nest under the deck. Bull snakes are sunning themselves and lizards have emerged, doing their push-ups on warm rocks. Ewes are lambing in Zuni and Navajo flocks, the parturition dabbing flecks of white against the dun-colored sage and chamisa.

Mud still comes and goes with snow squalls, but the sun has taken the upper hand. Grass grows in the ditches while humming bird feeders sprout from porches and overhangs.

It's a good time of year for residents of El Morro to think about festivals, May poles, green houses, and International Naked Gardening Day. It's time to doff the down jackets, put on the wide-brimmed sun hat, prep the soil, and clean out the pickling jars.

Love is in the air, and romances have sprouted along with the verbena. Couples sip coffee at the Ancient Way Cafe. Tandem kayaks are gliding across the surface of the lake.

Of course, there is still frost on the cars in the morning. We know that snow will fly again, that winter will visit the ridges and chill the wind. We can feel winter in the shadows before the sun goes down, and then after sunset under a cold moon,  but the warm-up is happening.

Spring sits on the wires and sings along with the blue birds, the grosbeaks, and copper-throated Rufous hummers. It's time to take up a spade, in the altogether, soak up some vitamin D, and endure the goose bumps.