Just returned from a brisk walk through the woods on the way to the Taos Ski Valley. The Rio Pueblo is tumbling and loud at this time of year - pushing against its banks, through the trees. Strong winds today (55 mph gusts) are not only noisy but tossing trees limbs to and fro - wild enough to cause a bold dog to hide under a picnic table. That is after he waded into the river, got soaking wet in the rushing snow melt that hasn't traveled south far enough yet to warm up. Spike has a thick double coat and we were both energized by the scent of pine trees and damp old leaves underfoot. The hot sun warmed us. All of my senses were assailed - smell, sound, touch. I love taking pictures of forest floors (go figure) and the way rocks and leaves look under shimmering water - so that's what I did while he sniffed every nook and cranny in eager doggie bliss.
We came upon a tree decorated as a memorial to someone who had passed on. I don't know the story, or why the sparkly pink Christmas garlands and rainbow ornaments were hanging from and wound around that particular tree in that particular part of the forest nestled in a sunny mountain canyon. There was a lengthy typewritten note enclosed in clear plastic attached to the tree but I didn't read it. What repelled me? I don't know. Something did though and I followed where my dog led me instead.
River rushes by
green and blue noisy silence
- my dog's ear is warm
Lorraine--I love the little poems, so fitting for the moments you describe.
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