The calendar, the sun, and the natural world all say it is autumn; and so it is. I use the calendar as I would a map: I know where I am but the reference point I hold in my hand gives affirmation. I have watched the sun & shadows on my medicine wheel, ancient petroglyphs, and accidental sun-tracking by an old bottle in my window. The grama grass is seasoned and brown in the sunlight, animals are taking on new routines, and the southern constellations are shifting back north. A slow-moving eternal dance of which I am a part.      

  Three or four small frogs seemed to have taken up residency around and under my east interior sandstone steps. I added two more frogs that washed out from under my rainwater collector in a cold flood. I placed a gold pan with rocks and water adjacent to the steps and stood back to watch my experiment. In the next day and a half, I removed sixteen frogs from various places in the ranch house to the sand and rocks outside of the warmer western door: a veritable plague of frogs, but not quite to biblical proportions. I started to believe in my ability to create an environment so realistic that wild creatures were attracted to it in numbers until I discovered the reason behind the migration: a small but still deadly and easily agitated rattlesnake that had established his hunting ground in the stonework outside the east door. He violated the code.      

      In the canyons of the region are hundreds of petroglyphs, some are timekeepers where the movement of shadow on stone indicates solstice or equinox. I have been watching three of them since late spring and so my observations have been limited but so far it seems that one site is only a solstice marker; one seems to work on both days with the shadow moving slightly different and at a faster rate on the equinox. The third site…I am just not sure, I need more observation time. Even at the sites where I am disappointed in the results or can draw no conclusions, I always learn or discover something new. No such thing as an empty or futile day: it’s the land of enchantment.             

    From where the small side canyon opens into the large main canyon, I look across flats and see the old pueblo. A few of the people tend garden plots along the path; a good harvest this year.  The natural rocky tank in the canyon bottom still contains water. I am greeted by smiles or simple words of many meanings, even on the pueblo side of the deep wash. They knew I would be here on this day at this hour to watch the shadow on the spiral. The people understand the petroglyph’s significance and have been watching it the past several days. They know the season is changing, but it is a secure feeling to see the shadow move across the spiral just as it always has: the cycle of life.  No great ceremony here today, although there will be feasting and dancing late into the night. At this time of day only women are on this side of the canyon, going about their daily chores and routines. They are used to me now and have taught me a great deal. The Deer-hunters yell from the other side of the canyon, a place of large boulders, oak trees and grass. They question why I want to spend time with the women or my manhood; one calls me the ‘father of Kokopelli’. I recross the wash upstream of the tank on a path that is only temporary and join the group under the oaks. They show me their campground, fire pit, work area, shelter caves and a hidden, but quick, trail through the rim to the mesa above. Under a sandstone outcrop 12-15 feet above the ground, I was shown two yellow handprint pictographs, one vertical, and one horizontal. The explanation given was that I had put those prints there a long time ago in that color in that place so when I returned, I would know and remember. And then I was left alone.      

  On the day of the equinox, the entire pack danced in the medicine wheel, enticed just a little by the traditional biscuits. They are a part of this dance too.