|Santa Fe River in Winter|
This is the dry river bed of the Santa Fe River. In the spring - this swift-moving mountain stream is full of trout and turbulent waters. In the fall and winter - it is little more than high-banked arroyo with only the slightest suggestion of a river having ever been here. No matter the time of year - it was always a river to me - wet or dry - to walk it was always "navigating the river".
This river ran right behind my house and most mornings, when I lived here, I would walk the block to Alto Street, cross into the little hidden park with the Aztec murals and descend down the steep banks into the river bed and walk a mile or two down this arroyo. No matter where I had been in the world, this was my anchor. The ebb and flow of time always washed me right back here to these familiar shores.
The gravitational pull of my world has since shifted and it is to the red rivers of my childhood that I have returned. But every winter, if only for a few days, the world slows down enough so that I can migrate back to this land of enchantment - this special place that was my beloved home for so many years.