The quiet season is here. When the pueblo falls into its winter sleep and thousand mile stare from MAh Wha Loo (Taos mountain), watching her children stare at the moments in time, the cold takes the old and brings down the weak and lost souls.
Silence: Is he a friend or is he an enemy?
I guess it depends on who is talking or wondering or walking into the pristine field of fresh snow, contemplating making snow angels, kissing flakes in the wind.
Winter; so peaceful and quiet, a sleep so deep, the way of the mammal to eat, sleep and wonder about loss and gain.
Winter afternoon long walks into the hills to find the wildness of deep winter, facing the fear of the hunt in the short days and chill long nights.
Pueblo winter – when the old stories seem like new fables in front of the fire place. Hearing the voice of women telling their stories as boisterous men laugh the deep, deep filled laughter. Continue reading Winter Slumber – 28 is Way Too Young to Die…