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Sandias in January

for Marlys, Neal, and Wolf

Sheaves of powdery cirrus
cluster in blue sky.
Soft blasts of biting breezes
freeze our lips and cheeks,
exposed to the bitter cold
in early morning.
Warmed by vigorous walking
past dried wildflowers,
cholla, yucca, prickly pear
and juniper trees,
alive with juncos and jays,
we reach the threshold
of Sandia wilderness
where the gravel path narrows.

The sun breaks over the crest,
dips behind the ridge,
then peers out over the rocks,
lending for moments
the favor of warming light.
In dappled shadows
of fir, spruce, and pinon pine,
we hike up the trail,
past clusters of worn boulders:
Sandia granite,
flecked with feldspar, dark green moss
medallions, lichen
tattoos—watermelon pink,
mustard, silver, rust, and sage.

Trident-shaped wild turkey tracks
lead off from the trail,
disappear into the woods.
Some spotted twohees
forge low in front of us
in the hardpacked snow.
The crunching bite of our spikes
breaks the deep silence
interrupted by the sound
of a woodpecker
tapping on the hollow trunk
of a broken pine,
weakened by drought and beetles.
In the cold air, we listen.

Through thickets of gambol oak,
wet with melting snow,
we switchback up to the crest:
an ancient seabed
of fossil-laden limestone
two thousand feet high
above the rifted valley.
Fulgent in the sun,
granite pyramids, towers
buttresses and fins
keep a stately, stony watch
above the canyon.
From our hard-won ledge,
we pause to watch a nuthatch,
or was it a rosy finch?


-G.H. January 5, 2025

—
Gary Harrison lives in Albuquerque, where he was a professor in the Department of English at the University of New Mexico. He has written critical books and essays on John Clare, Mary Shelley, and William Wordsworth. Recently published poems have appeared in Abandoned Mine and an edited collection of poems by writers in New Mexico, A Wind Blows Through Us (2021).

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