This Day’s a Magician

Northern NM Skybeams - Fey Karvaly

I was concerned about the cooling temperatures, and days shrinking on the edges, and trees changing, rattling, and shedding leaves. But then it kept being so beautiful, so that helped. New Mexico is like my long-time lover I think I know so well; nineteen years we’ve been together sleeping side by side, putting up with each other’s shit. So I say, Ah now you’re getting cold again, and my memories present a collage of lonely winter days from different years and freezing bike rides up grueling hills.

But then Albuquerque drifts a cumulus over and opens a lake of sky, and I realize, O you’re going to pull out that blue, are you? Because somehow its hue is vital and romantic—the blue above the Rio Grande in Taos on a gorgeous Sunday, the blue of poetry and the feeling of what’s true. It’s the exact shade of autumn coming on that just sings beside the yellow aspens, marigold cottonwoods, and purple mulberries dropping new dance partners for the wind.

Just got to keep looking and remember my lover is astounding—that’s why I fell in love. All the time, New Mexico’s showing me its flashy bits, its unique manner and style—the white early morning light streaming across the adobe wall and cedar windowsill—and my heart swells glad that we’re together.

Today started with the black pre-dawn when I woke from a fading dream that said everything would be okay. Later, the daybreak was cloudy and rainy and led to hours of hushing winds and leaves ticking at the door. Rain tapped at the skylights above, while I cooked all sweatered in the bright kitchen and raised the scents of melting butter, sautéed vegetables, pesto, warmed croissant, and dark coffee with cinnamon.

Then I ate intermittent bites and wrote, while meanwhile, the winds died down, rain cleared, and the sunlight broke through and filled the house, faded and flared, playing with its dimmer-switch, showing the art-form of fade-out. And all while I wrote, the house’s walls shone white, went dim gray, glowed from sunbeams that again sifted out of sight. When I finally looked out of the high windows, I saw one frame full of a smoky curly beard and the other half-filled with a charismatic blue, which vanished by my next glance. Might rain again soon. It’s the perfect morning to create a world at home.

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