(Clearly) New Mexico Pride
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New Mexico pride shines through like a lone sun ray on a blossoming yucca. Coyotes sing ancient songs to dream catchers hanging in adobe window frames. Sheets drying in the wind dance with tumble weeds on the mesa. Ice cream truck melodies mingle with the rich aroma of green chile roasting over a charcoal grill. Children laughing to the beat of a lazy Sunday afternoon suck frozen otter pops with multi colored lips.
A dry summer breeze caresses the glistening chrome rims of a dropped impala in Espaņola, while a lizard's tail is snapped off by a kitten in Moriarty. Dusk brings the Jemez sky to life, as the tops of the juniper trees bid the sun farewell. Wood has been chopped, fires are starting. Dinners are cooking. Pots of deer stew, homemade tortillas, Cinnamon biscochitos y todo. Echoes of creation stories linger like embers burning into the early morning.
Polished sterling belt buckles studded with chunks of raw turquoise reflect Zia tattoos, tear drop tattoos and red chile ristras hanging on porches. Big trucks, big cowboy hats, plenty of space, too much for some people. You can see 100 miles away on a clear day. Chickens take over south valley back yards like weeds in the spring. Dogs play in the Rio Grande, shaking off the wetness of the brown river into the tall grasses beneath the cottonwoods. Grandma and granddaughter in church clothes take their time picking wild flowers along a narrow trail on the bosque. Life is slow and humble here, just the way we like it.
A dry summer breeze caresses the glistening chrome rims of a dropped impala in Espaņola, while a lizard's tail is snapped off by a kitten in Moriarty. Dusk brings the Jemez sky to life, as the tops of the juniper trees bid the sun farewell. Wood has been chopped, fires are starting. Dinners are cooking. Pots of deer stew, homemade tortillas, Cinnamon biscochitos y todo. Echoes of creation stories linger like embers burning into the early morning.
Polished sterling belt buckles studded with chunks of raw turquoise reflect Zia tattoos, tear drop tattoos and red chile ristras hanging on porches. Big trucks, big cowboy hats, plenty of space, too much for some people. You can see 100 miles away on a clear day. Chickens take over south valley back yards like weeds in the spring. Dogs play in the Rio Grande, shaking off the wetness of the brown river into the tall grasses beneath the cottonwoods. Grandma and granddaughter in church clothes take their time picking wild flowers along a narrow trail on the bosque. Life is slow and humble here, just the way we like it.
