Outside everything is misty and shadowed by the low riding silver clouds. A wind is rippling is through the Junipers and the taste of Winter can tasted on the tongue, a sweet dampness to the air that is a rare treat in a dry land. Snow is coming.
I’m still writing from the cafe, a cozy place lit up by christmas lights and heated by a wood stove at the center of the main room. The owner is a friend and doesn’t mind me sipping endless cups of tea and decaf lattes as I work manically on my silver laptop. She told me I could set up a tent in the corner if I like, and to just please not light any indoor open fires… it’s nice that local people have a sense of humor about us crazy canyon folks. Most of these people don’t call me Kiva, they call me Rosa or Rose, maybe Kiva is too hippy or maybe Rose is just more comfortable and traditional for them. Either way, it works for me, I like all my names. Especially now that I have names that actually fit me, instead of the things other people have called me or that I’ve used as disguises in my past lives (a mere five years ago LOL).
I’d rather be home digging Nettle roots and eating Elk stew, but if I have to be out in civilization, well then, this lovely little village cafe is a nice compromise. Besides, I can gather some greens and bark on the way home.
It’s funny how the fairy tales are, how it’s scary for Little Red Riding Hood in the deep dark woods with the wild animals. I always feel like Little Red Riding Hood when I come to town or when I go to the city. At home, in the woods with the wolves and mountain lions I feel safe, intact and right. Out here, it’s pretty and shiny but I’m more on edge, more likely to populate the peripheries of everything, and more likely to hang out with winter wildflowers and hollow trees than people.
The hills look purple from here, and great red cliffs jut down from the sky. Every natural place on Earth is enchanted, but New Mexico is pure magic, and the land just sings to me.