San Francisco de Asis de Ranchos de Taos

The light fades
and shifts endlessly
bringing to life new forms
constantly changing and shaping the power and meaning
of what is revealed
First light in june speaks of long days of pacing oneself to meet the sunset still standing
September dusk begins to tell of gathering wood and bringing in the harvest from the coming storms

The ice that forms on the beard of old man winter
will tell a whole new tale
He will bring a fresh load of mystery down
from the frozen lands in the north
causing us to turn within ourselves
and squint at the light reflected from his frost
Showing us the world in stark, contrasting form.

I sit and marvel at this edifice of sticks and mud
built by man to withstand the ravages of time and war
and to glorify his god
Given strength with straw
of all things

Every spring a group will form
to tend and caress their history
with fresh mud
and straw
Presided over by the fathers
who add the straw
in solemn, measured handfulls
as if they know
exactly how many strands are needed
and are counting each as it falls
into the box of sand and clay
gathered from a secret place
where the color is just so
It is a point of pride for the parishioners
and a holy communion
between god and mud and man
and straw
I cannot forget the way the light struck that golden straw
and made it seem to glow with it’s own holy light
as it fell from the fathers hand
as if it had come
from the very manger that their savior was born in
imbued with his grace
miracle straw, holding it all together

Now, as winter approaches
the once smooth surface is already worn
by the wind and the rain that fell through the year
Still, the edifice stands
prepared to weather the storms of winter
to hold the warmth of faith
and the candle of hope
safe within its earthen walls
for another year
content in its knowledge
that it is a holy place
and the parishioners will not let it fall.


Still here…

Just a short post to let my readers know that I am still here:) I have been trapped in Facebook games and daily life as of late and have not been writing. I do feel one coming on though….
I raced with the Winter King
carrying the torch of Summer
held high
I gathered in the harvest
from the gardens of the Sun
as the western sky grew red
and the cold breath of Winter began

All the while the cry rang in my head:
The King is dead!

Long live the King!