ANGEL SLEEVES

Have arrived at La Villa de la Santa Fe de San Francisco de Asis, more commonly (and understandably) known by the short handle Santa Fe, the oldest capital in America (founded 1610) and I haven’t seen so many hummingbirds since I was here last. They hang from the penstemon blossoms like emerald-throated fruits.

Driving here from Albuquerque in my elephantine rental vehicle (the only one left available; there are more tourists here than hummingbirds) feeling like a neomahout, from the tops of the rolling hills I could see all kinds of weather. Here a blue-brown mirage of heat, there a compact thunderstorm huddled over a cluster of small mountains, sky-high white thunderhead just poised over one spot lightninging and thundering, emptying its whiteness into a hidden canyon; shimmering here and there across the air were bright slabs of rainbow - not the conventional arc that prevails elsewhere, but amorphous sheens of broken light spanning from sky to earth like angel sleeves hanging down, dragging slowly across the broad brown landscape.

Seems most of my time on this US trip will be spent in deserts, which is fine with me. Where better than the place of revelation?