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.
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.
Through all these years of turmoil and change, the Santa Fe Indian Market has persisted.
Burning to prevent burning produces unwelcome results… even in the face of wildfires, we may do our forests a favor by leaving them alone.
Life gets pretty boring for a lone dog like Pip, especially now—it is so hot and the hiking trails are so crowded we don’t go there much.
As always with a big new project, the day of reckoning comes at last.
The wisdom of old age: to stay and savor, rather than leaving to experience more.
The last few days have brought me into contact with four extraordinary people… this seems amazing.
In times like this, I’m grateful that—so far—Santa Fe has been spared, and perhaps the closing of our neighboring national forest will prevent disaster.
We don’t know how to behave in the woods.