Again I am Priveleged to Witness

Again I am privileged to witness

the rebirth of the colors:


the russet-red riverbed by Mexican Hat,

the purple blade of Comb Ridge deep in shade,

the chocolate cliffs of Bluff

with mocha icing on top.


A black shape above the blacktop:

Good morning raven,

trolling for breakfast.


Good morning, old blue Navajo Mountain.

You are so round and so certain,

you make me happy.


Good morning Abajo Peak

with your white epaulets.

Why do you hide your bald head?


The great Ute is still sleeping,

knuckles folded on his chest,

toes pointed south, breathing

through his broad nose

the essence of this day,

inhaling, exhaling.

Let us do so too.


But wait, something else summons us:

a quality that inheres in rock,

imbues the atmosphere,



, precisely,

but that which animates it.

What to call it?






Ah, words! Try so hard to

strike sparks from the cold flint,

to conjure essences.

Brilliant provocateurs!


Go, go! See for yourself!