High Desert Grey Day

(Please click on the title for a reading aloud by the author.)

This morning the sky is overcast in northern New Mexico and the temperature hovers just above freezing – a reprieve from last week’s cold snap with a record early morning low here at the house of minus 19.8 degrees Fahrenheit (- 28.8 C). There is snow forecasted for today but it may be rain. Surrounding mountain peaks, dark slate blue and white are in and out of hiding in the clouds. North faces of the hills are covered with snow. Localized storms sweep across the landscape, grey tendrils of moisture falling bend in the wind.

I make a second pot of tea. Making tea is one of my rituals; water comes up from the well fresh and cold and sweet, I fill the kettle and put it on the stove, the igniter snap!, snap!, snaps! and a blue flame leaps up, the kettle creaks and groans building to a whistle, I charge the pot with some hot water and then pour it into the waiting cup to warm it too, I pour the just boiled water over the tea (Earl Grey today) and wait. Waiting is a useful skill. I empty the warm water from the cup into the sink. Now pouring the tea into the cup it gives reassurance, the hot liquor churns like the wake of a boat.

Without solar gain the house is chilly so I layer on more fleece. Haute couture par Michelin. The windows are large and I have the shades drawn closed except on the one near the table where I work. The daylight is soft and the wind hisses around the house.

I pour another cup of tea and watch the steam rise from it, I wrap my hands around it.

The phone rings and it is Pat. Long time friends Pat and Franz are both in their eighties and I am their some time computer guru – we all use Apples. She has a blank black screen with a cursor on it. Command Q does nothing. Computers are usually so responsive, we push keys and jiggle mice and things happen. When nothing happens what do we do? I lead Pat through forcing the computer to shut down and then start it again and explain this is a way, when all else fails to get out of a jam.

While we wait for the computer to go through its start routine we talk about hikes and snowshoeing and the philosophy class they’re taking. The enduring questions indeed endure. I love the fact these two people still have questions, are curious about the nature of truth and knowledge and life, and pursue answers whether they exist or not. They are an inspiration.

The bird bath is mostly thawed, an ice cake floats at the lee side. Bluebirds and finches come for drinks. Juncos hop and peck in the grasses for something to eat.

I hear the whistle from a passing freight train. The tracks are three miles away, and this happens only when the wind is from the south. Suddenly it’s snowing hard.

Gordon Bunker