I am happy to be in the southwest, where the sun's southern path isn't a figment of my imagination as it was in Montana, where I hardly saw the golden orb in winter. Here, I will witness the sun's path north in the shadows on the canyon walls, as I will watch the moon rise above the Sangre de Cristo peaks, set behind Georgia O'Keefe's flat-topped Pedernal.
Yes. I am happy to be back in the land of smooth curved adobe; mud walls where straw protrudes and dirt is shed like a horse's coat.
I spied the bighorn sheep along the mesa this week; saw them three evenings in a row. Their white butts protruded from the faded green sage brush. Rams with large curved horns knelt down to spend the cold evening under a star-speckled night.