The toughest part of winter has to be the first part of Spring, or so it seems in this enchanted high desert. Snow and cold are accepted and tolerated conditions in February and March, but by April we expect the weather to moderate. At this elevation on the west slope of the continental divide, the vernal equinox is only a definable marker of the sun’s journey and not the day that winter comes to a close: a milepost on our trip around the sun.
   

    During this transitional time, the weather can  quickly and dramatically change, as in many regions of the country. Clear blue sky and warm sunshine can be replaced by a snowstorm amazingly fast right before my eyes. Then just as quickly the snow is blown away on near gale-force winds that blow for days at a time, arranging the landscape on a whim and intimidating anyone venturing outside. Eyes and ears fill with dust; grit is felt between cheek, gum, and teeth. The dogs, and humans too, tend to squint into the wind while fine New Mexican soil collects in the corners of our eyes.
   

     Clouds sail quickly by, hurrying to a destination in Texas or Colorado or points beyond. Sometimes the clouds are thin and faint up where the jet-planes cross the sky and sometimes they are dark and low, dragging themselves across the rugged landscape. The interplay of clouds, shadows, and horizon in this vast land is always fascinating, always shifting. Some days are pure blue skies, empty except for the burning intensity of the sun. Only a very slight breeze stirs the junipers and grama grass; the air is pure. April sun warms us all: rock, trees, dogs, humans, and Earth. This morning is such a time.
    

     The Deer-hunters settled into the canyon, made themselves comfortable while knowing it would be a short stay. When none of the village inhabitants returned from the big pueblos to the north, the hunters sent two runners out to find answers to their questions. They had returned before the end of the second day, bringing along the few Deer-hunters that had wintered with the Corn-growers. They spoke of changes and ideas from the new priests, learned in a land far south. The basis for this new way was to have all power, political and religious, centered in only a very few individuals. The people would all reside in the village of the great kivas. Farmers will work along the river of fish during the summer, returning to the great village with the harvest in the autumn. Everything would be divided up, under close scrutiny and direction. No one would live the free life in the canyons spending at least half the year farming, hunting and gathering. Such a way was unacceptable to the Deer-hunters; intolerable. They discussed this situation at great length, individually and in the group. The outcome was an inevitable truth in their way of life. They could not live even on the fringe of such conditions. The time had come for a new home; this was no longer a good place.  Some would stay in the area to learn more of this new threat. Some would search out a new home, surrounded by open freedom.
   

     The Ancient Child spoke to the group around the evening fire, a rare circumstance; his birth deformities made speaking above a whisper very difficult. He made it known that in the morning he would be trekking to the east searching out a place he had seen but never been. ‘A great winding canyon far out among the wooded hills, beyond the great valley, across the headwaters of the river. The entrance to the canyon, unassuming and nearly unnoticeable, is guarded by two women. They protect the land and so are protected by it. There will we be home.’ Such a pronouncement took the Deer-hunters by surprise, but they all knew it would be: such was the Ancient Child. At the very least it would be an adventure, and so the hunter known as Badger decided to accompany the Ancient Child. The morning would not come soon enough.
    

    This day is such a morning. The enchanted sun warms  the rock of the patio and walls. The air has just a touch of humidity from yesterday’s snow. The potential of such a day stretches out like the horizon. The morning dance centered on biscuits and drifted into a group interpretation of sniffing, back-scratching, digging, and assorted dog-stuff.  I just had coffee.