The sky has given over its bitterness. Out of the dark change all day long rain falls and falls as if it would never end. Still the snow keeps its hold on the ground. But water, water from a thousand runnels! It collects swiftly, dappled with black cuts a way for itself through green ice in the gutters. Drop after drop it falls from the withered grass-stems of the overhanging embankment.
In 1970, my air force husband who had been stationed in Taiwan (I think), was transferred to Holloman AFB, Alamogordo, New Mexico. I was happily into my second year in college at East Carolina University, living with my sons in a student apartment in Greenville, North Carolina. New Mexico was to be our new home Don said and I, imagining life once again on an air force base, now surrounded by a desert full of roving tarantulas, was not happy.
The drive from Greenville to Alamogordo was somewhat grim, at least from my perspective. But then, after two days and nights on the road, I came out of road-trip stupor in Valley of the Fires State Park just north of Carrizozo and fell instantly in love with the ‘enchanting’ state in front of me.
Twenty New Mexico years would pass happily and productively before, for a variety of reasons, I left for greener (literally) pastures in California and Minnesota. I always missed my New Mexico life even while living in places I overall preferred. So imagine my surprise to find myself back in Albuquerque in January 2000. It was clear early on that shinier aspects of that old enchantment had tarnished… probably from the endless sunshine.
And twenty years after that, it’s July 2020. There are things about this state and city I still find…if not enchanting…at least desirable. The blueness of our statehood for one. I also love that we really are multi-cultural in our everyday lives and in our arts. And the Sandia mountains turning all rosy with the sunset. My New Mexico family and friends. My work and our little art center over on 4th Street.
But. Not. The. Climate. I am, I keep declaring, a pluviophile. I love rain. How am I supposed to think big thoughts, dream big dreams…or even small ones without the sound of raindrops in the background? How to enjoy melancholy time…and please don’t tell you don’t like feeling melancholy now and again, without clouds and thunder and lightning and rain? How to have to live every experience out in the unrelenting glare of high desert sun?
Here, once again, are some of my Norway on the train in the rain photos.