Waves of soft spring rain have been washing the canyon and everything in it not sheltering in dry spots throughout the night. All lights still off, I doze in and out of deep sleep imagining and dreaming of heavy cold clouds fat with icy moisture soaring from the west over the Sangre de Cristo range before spilling over Gascon Point, warming upon meeting tepid air pooled across the plains and up into these upper canyon reaches, then gently dropping their thawed loads.
Images of chipmunk, ground squirrel, vole and weasel curled into small, pulsing balls of fur in burrows make me envious—even resentful and somewhat ashamed of my relatively bare-skinned form. Still in bed as morning light swells above thick cloud blanket slowly sailing eastward, I'm cozy enough beneath thick down blanket as I write about this experience into soft glow of tablet computer. Between short stints of soft slumber I see a brighter glow appearing at terminus of the rain cloud.
Good. Sunlight will soon warm this drenched canyon.
Too dim for it, and too reluctant to leave bed to snap one anyway, there is no photo for this blog entry. Only these meager words. There may be spectacular mists rising from the forest later as the canyon warms in morning sunlight. Time enough for photos then.
Now, a few more dreams.
ZZZzzz . . .