We’ve been living on Chamisa Trail for over a year now, and every day I feel grateful to be back in the San Luis Valley. My root hairs, after having been dug up from our home in Jaroso and stuffed into a traveling pot, are finally sunk into the ground again. Last October and November…

Spell check is not your friend. It titters on high heels like some pre Madonna and belittles your best hammy downs. It insists it is not disgusting you while picking at sores from Ancient Orange. It will praise your half fast attempts as it glibly promises the Pullet’s Surprise. *** No, spell check is not…

He was an Iraqi vet returning home to the San Luis Valley on a new mission—college. On the first day of class, he was more than game, rearranging my hand with his grip and barking out his name. In fact, his is the only name I remember from that class, Andre. Unlike Andre’s wise strategy…

The last embers of summer: their slow sustaining fire, whole days devoted to carving stone, the arcing sunlight my gauge, my chisel, as the Goddess’s white dust blesses my skin. * In the evening I walk out to Esperanza as she walks to me, puts her head in my hands, her nose into the halter….

The times I want to remember, the times I want to forget; the memories I savor and those that I regret; the choices that felt right and true and those that I still rue: all the turmoil of the past two years is settling, settling, settling. * The colors lead me home again, the paintings…

1960s. My first studio was in the cinderblock basement of my parents’ suburban home in Bethesda, Maryland. At the very wise age of 16, I was certain I’d be a potter, so my parents, always so understanding and supportive of my artistic tendencies, bought me a kick wheel, a small electric kiln, and clay.  I…

Many of us think that we want to be left alone. Not bothered. We want to mind our own business, and have everyone else mind theirs. But I’m certain that’s not entirely true, and I’ve had a few chances in my life to act on that conviction. We want to be involved. We want to…

Hanna awoke to the sound of neighing and barking. She slipped on her rubber boots, wrapped a thin robe around her boney body, grabbed the shotgun and walked out of the trailer into the moon-drenched night. Damn coyotes, she muttered. Or that blue roan stallion nosing after her mares like he did right about this…

This morning I watched the dawn pour like molten bronze over the flank of Mt Blanca, aka Sisnaajini—the northernmost sacred mountain of the Dine Nation—while soaking in our hot tub. Not usual behavior for a warrior, but something I could get used to. Tomorrow I will turn 64 years old, which means I’ve spent half…

She glows, exquisite in her own brilliant light, golden against the vast dark, effortlessly exerting her pull on all things that flow and hunger. We are pulled in, infused by her alluring power, willing to cut our tethers, do anything to join in the magic promise of her journey. But proximity brings an unexpected peril. Suddenly…