I was reading the Yarn Harlot's blog the other day, and laughing when she talked about how difficult it was to function in Denver's mile high altitude. It's true, a mile from sea level is way the hell up there, and for flat landers, catching your breath can be the main focus of the day. Here in Taos we're at 7,000 feet. And even though I'm quite used to the lack of oxygen by now, I'm not used to seeing snow on daffodils. It just seems wrong, but of course that's me being silly... again. We got two inches of snow last night. Very pretty this morning, under a sky so sharp and blue it could poke your eyes out. But can I admit I'm tired of it? And then can I slap my own silly face and tell me to snap out of it? At least we're not in one of those places that's flooding or blowing away or any number of other Terrible Things that can happen. In a way, we're safe here on the top of the world. As long as Los Alamos doesn't spring a leak, there's not much that can get us.
We showed the house again yesterday. Still no takers. Ah well. We'll just keep cleaning and fluffing and making cookies until the right person comes along. I call it "waiting for further instructions", but sometimes it feels more like being chained to Taos. I suspect this feeling of captivity has something to do with my current obsession with making silver chains. I can't stop. I don't want to stop. I want to take this seemingly-stuck situation and express it in metal and glass and fire. You'll see. Lemonade long before lemonade season. Hang on little daffodil! Things are changing faster than we know.
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