Observations (in the raw)
Winter weather has come to the desert. It slipped in yesterday from the Northeast. This morning flurries drift about and cling to the dried vegetation and try to calm a moistureless ground. Fog hangs on our mountain and I realize I like this. I like this absence of color and this absence of warmth. It pulls me inward and seems so familiar, as if, an old friend has returned. You know, the type of friend you didn't think you missed until they stand before you again.
Winter. I can handle some cold. Inside there is heat.
Pat Greenwell is an artist. A painter and sometimes poet, he has been searching the New Mexico desert for a couple of years now, looking for lost possibilities and probable intentions.
"...mostly stream-of-consciousness stuff, you know...