In Santa Fe I would walk up the Sangre de Cristo mountains, up the old forest road that reaches to the ridge around 12,000 feet. Up past the aspen groves and into the high pines, where the winter wind whips the ridge with gales and heavy snows. It is an investment to make that trek.
From the peak you can see across the valley below, beyond Santa Fe to Albuquerque and the Sandias, and farther to Los Alamos in the Jémez mountains. In the altiplano the air is thin and dry. Light changes the character of the desert throughout the day, from brilliant golds and reds at dawn, to hues of blue and purple at dusk.
This day a thunderstorm was brewing over the valley near dusk. From high above on the mountainside I watched a single cloud slowly roll in like a ship, its shadow crossing La Tetilla, a solitary feature in the valley. The press of wind at my face fell away into stillness.
As it crossed between me and the sun, a shear veil descended from the cloud. The rain fell so delicately mere strands reached out to touch the sand. As if not wanting to stir the dust, evaporating before it could reach the ground, onto earth so dry dust flew in a wave before it.
At once it seemed to tremble in the falling light, and at last the cloud released its waves onto the sand and stones, over the bright pebbles and dust.
Then into the brightening column poured the spire of the sun.
As if a spirit taken form, the storm became a pillar of light. Every drop, flight of dust, and rising mist was filled with dusk’s golden glow. A transcendent flame set fire to the rain, and the mountain air turned chill, as if touched by a ghost.
Alone on the mountain top, I felt as if this vision was meant just for me. Too soon this specter and the stillness would come to an end.
I pushed my hands into my pockets. I wouldn’t remain in this landscape that I love, among these old mountains, its weathered trees and stones. My work would be elsewhere.
Just as gently as it began, the rain slowly faded. The cloud grew cold and blue and fingers of mist gently drew back into the hand. As the sun sank behind familiar hills, the light sharpened.
The wind stepped up, and I stepped down, my footfalls brighter, lightened by rain.
