Desert Pyre: Winifred Mumbles

It’s burning again. Look out across this river valley at the old volcano warts and there doesn’t seem to be enough to keep a churro fed, never mind an inferno. What’s it eating when there’s nothing but grit and gravel and black rock? I don’t go over that way enough to puzzle out that riddle.… Continue reading Desert Pyre: Winifred Mumbles

Arroyo Strawberries: Winifred Mumbles

A Full Moon Tale for the Strawberry Moon There’s a layer of ash visible high in the walls of the arroyo. It lenses in and out, thickening and thinning, breaking into eerie grey smiles in the upper bank face. It is not old. Bright plastic riddles the layers underneath this ash like malignant confetti and… Continue reading Arroyo Strawberries: Winifred Mumbles

caldera summer sunrise

Sunrise over the Cerro Pelado Fire, Jemez Caldera, New Mexico opening day’s eye pierces dawn shredding fragile cloud with sun daggers rising light enlivening early lizards on red rocks warming creosote bush scent and following the dipping dance of the hummingbird salt cedars stand sentinel through the drought in spectral rivers of sand where the… Continue reading caldera summer sunrise

Box People: Winifred Mumbles

It’s my week to tend to the box people. Don’t know why I signed up for a whole week in January. The Wolf Moon is the hardest time of year. But they were so grateful down in the valley when I did that I didn’t have the heart to change it. So now… forty-six years… Continue reading Box People: Winifred Mumbles

In Praise of Laziness

I tossed out what many seem to have construed as a slur on Western Americans last week, mostly, I confess, for the alliterative qualities of the phrase. (Because I do like me some euphony.) I said Burqueños are “laconic and lazy” (and not much interested in your specialness). Far from being derogatory, this is high… Continue reading In Praise of Laziness

9000 Years (Winifred Mumbles)

Nine thousand years. Maybe ten. Maybe fifteen. Five hundred generations. Of humans that is. Nine thousand generations of this. Nine thousand years of fields green with three sisters. The gold of tassels, rust of pods, sun orange and berry red of squash. I feel the breath of my ancestors in these gardens, stirring leaves and… Continue reading 9000 Years (Winifred Mumbles)