October 13, 2011
The Syncline: The sandstone ponds had had a flashflood through them. In the lower pools the willows were torn and full of wreckage, but the higher ones were beautiful. We went in naked on the sandy, gravely mud.
Polliwogs and froglets nibbled us. We slid down the algae-coated water chutes of the linked pools; the stream’s steady drip from pool to pool became overflow as our bodies displaced water.
So quiet! Wind in the cottonwoods, sun on the washed stone, warm breeze on bare skin. Absolute peace.
October 9, 2011
At the top of the acequia was a tunnel in the side of the mountain, originally a mine. I couldn’t see into it—it was dark and the day was bright. But away back in there I could make out a reddish door; the sound of water came from behind it. Across the square black tunnel mouth orb spiders had built three perfect webs, one after another.