Another weekend, another rally.
There was a guard making sure I didn't touch it, but it was still cool to see the World Series trophy from the year I fell in love with the Red Sox.
Beyond happy at Fenway.
I also picked up an Edward Gorey deck of tarot cards that only predict the dreadful things that lie in wait, which feels correct for right now.
A perfectly named book of poems by Rowan Ricardo Phillips
Having pals who contribute at good magazines feels like an excuse to buy print.
Goodbye, Santa Fe. You really are the Land of Enchantment.
The thing I miss most about living out west are the mountains and the Jemez range didn't disappoint.
We slogged through mud and a bit of snow, but our hike through the Santa Fe hills was worth it.
My nose is sunburnt and I've been dangerously dehydrated for days, but I don't want to leave this land of blue skies and green chile.
Santa Fe's teensy airport will always make me smile. Or maybe it's seeing blue sky and knowing I dodged the storm hitting the East Coast tomorrow.
She waits like this outside my bedroom every morning thinking that Siena is going to come out and play/fight.