imperious nature

I'm so desperate for real spring that I'm photographing dandelions in my driveway! We had a couple of days of much longed-for rain and it was lovely, but the acequias are running low and there is a general feeling of underlying worry. Last year at this time Ron's studio got flooded because there was so much water that it overflowed and, water being water, found its angle of repose under his door. It flowed in steadily like a sweet little stream with ripples and all. He was running around saying he was going to sue someone, I was dragging paintings and books outside, mumbling oh my god! oh my god! and our neighbor, who had been cleaning the ditch, came over and calmly ordered us to get brooms and mops. But that was last year. And nothing ever stays the same around here except impermanence. Nature reigns, and now that we're mountain people, I guess that's the deal. And then yesterday. Did I tell you about yesterday? This is what greeted our bleary eyes as we stumbled out of bed and into the kitchen!

I hate this picture because it's all too familiar, but there you are. Today is another story. The snow is gone and I'm photographing yellow flowers in the sun.

anthology report
Meanwhile, weather or not, my week has been taken up with work on this year's edition of Chokecherries coming out in July. I've been to meetings, cafes - and a morning spent at the Harwood museum in their fine new "vault" area (I don't know if they call it that, but it (pleasantly) felt like one). It's all temperature controlled and filled with art from Taos Moderns and other legendary greats. The written material I've gathered from authors is outstanding (look for a celebrity). But I can't open the curtain yet. You know what they say about creative energy. If revealed too early, it goes away.

After the tight frozen winter and the dusty winds of spring, 
to hear the water flow again! It has come all the way from 
Blue Lake, up in the mountains behind the Sacred Mountain; 
it has fallen six thousand feet through canyons where its sides 
were bordered with pine and aspen trees; it has come down 
through the scrub oak and the mountain elders..."
                       Mabel Dodge Luhan