I work at home, but I take myself on a morning commute every day around the wild reaches of my neighborhood. I leave my place at about six-thirty am, when it is just getting light, walk the street down the hill, across the arroyo and then south until I get to the trail that winds up the ridge through the piñon-juniper woodland. I greet the plants as I go, appreciating their lives and our reciprocal breathing, and climb to a view of the Jemez Mountains to the west across the Rio Grande Valley and the Sangre de Cristos behind me. I come home two miles later, my head full of towhee songs, shadowy coyotes hunting and blue grama grass eyebrows, ready to write.
I work at home, but I take myself on a morning commute every day around the wild reaches of my neighborhood. I leave my place at about six-thirty am, when it is just getting light, walk the street down the hill, across the arroyo and then south until I get to the trail that winds up the ridge through the piñon-juniper woodland. I greet the plants as I go, appreciating their lives and our reciprocal breathing, and climb to a view of the Jemez Mountains to the west across the Rio Grande Valley and the Sangre de Cristos behind me. I come home two miles later, my head full of towhee songs, shadowy coyotes hunting and blue grama grass eyebrows, ready to write.