We traveled to the Chama, some friends and I.
Her beauty rose to meet us as we dropped into the arms of rock walls of layered time, through dusky green tides of rolling desert, to the river flowing like blood in a beating heart.
The land opens and we behold the rainbow of shifting light, clouds passing over, wind brushing the tops of willow thickets.
We behold all this, and remember that just as the land contains such beauty, so too are there blessed places hiding in our own souls. Wild places, where everything–drought and rain, rock and cottonwood, flowing water, and light, so much light–exists to make us whole.
We come to this place, and grace comes to us.
Reverence fills our thirsty hearts, awe floods our humble lives. And in the grace of this place, we deepen into the grace of ourselves. Those hidden canyons that are timeless, that belong to the sacred.
We come and in coming find joy–communion, laughter, song, feasting. And more than a few rattlesnakes.
We delight in our togetherness, and the many lights shining out of our circle, lights that have found one another, and so grown brighter.
We celebrate our families and friendships, our blossoming children, our musical menfolk, and another year around the sun (that would be me!)
Most of all, we celebrate the life giving waters of our dry land.
Oh Chama River, what a gift you are indeed.