Summer in New Mexico does not require many words. It is all sensory: sound and light and shadow, the smell of rain somewhere.
My mother and I were witness to one of the most amazing sunsets a few weeks ago, driving home from Llano, which is just past Penasco.
Evening light through a curtain
As often as New Mexico is beautiful, it is whacky. At the farmers market several weeks ago, I looked up to see a very thin, long-haired man clad in what appeared to be nothing more than a leopard skin, parading around waving a tree branch, accosting customers.
Turns out it was a promotion for the opera that was opening that night, Menotti's The Last Savage.
Downtown window display
It has been a hot, dry summer, but it poured yesterday. Thunder rumbled all afternoon; the evening was cool and breezy. It is easy to sleep on a night like that, and to dream of more rain, of the river running again, the acequias filled to the brim. The desert inspires a wary optimism, a propensity for sincere prayer. But sunshine or thunderstorm, it is always beautiful.
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