Over the twenty-seven years I’ve lived in Santa Fe, many people have come and many people have gone.
Blog Posts about New Mexico
As a child, I planted seeds every spring and knew how likely it was that, when I forgot to water them, they would never spring from the dry earth.
Sometimes I’m grateful for the old Roman Catholic doctrine of Original Sin that held there is no innocent being, even a newborn, since Eve’s fall.
Bells are ringing all over Santa Fe and the Plaza is blindingly bright with tree-strung lights…
My black dog Pip, now three and a half years old, fears not cold, snow or rain. For him it is all an adventure.
I will always miss the sensation of diving off the slope, at ten thousand feet, and sailing down the longest run with big curving sweeps of my skis.
I have lived here for twenty-seven years, and in all that time, I’ve felt and seen a slow progression in state politics toward justice.
What a way to celebrate the vibrant heart of a small town.
Like the medieval desert mendicants, holy men who lived their lives in remote caves and were sometimes fed by ravens, Will had long ago lost any interest in possessions, or any taste for food.
It is finished after almost two years of work, with many changes—some of them drastic, others simply disappointing—along the way.