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Sic Transit Gloria Monday



I woke from apnea, I guess. Gasping for breath, as though I'd been wrestling, or running. I was dreaming heavy, about work, some screwup long ago. I couldn't get past it, and I pushed and pushed....

I sat up. There wasn't enough air, and yet I kept gasping and going back to sleep. I pushed the covers back, and looked outside. Nothing. Gray fog, so thick it actually rubbed against the window. Or the wind did. Velcro fog. Insistent, like a sullen neighbor who won't stop knocking.

It was like waking from one dream into another. That same cut-off feeling.

I slid the window open. Cold, wet air came flowing in smoothly. Penetrating, shocking. I reached out to close it, and I heard.... crows. Raucous, calling to each other, somewhere out there.

Oblivious of me. If this was another dream, I had company.

I remembered, then. It's Monday. The day I leave the mountains. I stopped short last night, up here in the pass between Chama and Taos, between Tierra Amarilla and Tres Piedras. I stopped, on a level turnout, because it was late, because the road was empty, because the view was breathtaking. Sunset pushing past dark clouds, pink and yellow glowing under and over layers of rain suspended in the west. The earth is not really yellow here, but some of the aspens are brilliant gold.

I stopped to look, because soon there would be no more mountains.

Well, there's no view this morning. It's like trying to see through curtains, or the gradually brightening wall of a tent.

You know, it's odd how little it takes to make a home. A small warm space, a few familiar objects. Some way to shut out everything else.

A door, a window, a light, and suddenly it seems like home. Even if it's only 8 X 20 feet, and a loft beyond. That's more than enough.

Oh, and coffee. Coffee would be good. Somewhere in the back of my pounding skull that suffocating dream is still going on. But I can't get to it.

I'll just have to get beyond it.


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