Watermelon In Winter
I was lucky enough to always' live in a house facing more less to the east
I have gazed upon them since I was a child, the same as others for hundreds of years
They are a part of the spirit of this land, majestic beauty in the high desert
The golden rays of the sun break its crest every morning
The silver moon rises high over its silhouette every night
I have looked upon them from oldtown the same way the Spaniards did
From the pueblo named after them where the buffalo eat the tall grass in the afternoon breeze
I have stood on its peak to view the Rio Grande River far below
I have picked Pinon nuts from the trees under the Turquoise blue sky
The spring winds obscure them with blowing dust sometimes, but I know they will always' be there
I have walked its trails in the summertime, the smell of rain as the monsoon clouds form in the sky
I have driven through Tijeras canyon as red and yellow autumn leaves begin to fall
A vast sea created them eons ago, these mountains of pink granite, known as the Sandias
In the midst of a December sunset, the glittering, radiant light of the Zia shines upon them
A blanket of snow covers its crest in the evening twilight, and in it, I see the crystal colors of its name shimmer
The beautiful Sandias, watermelon in winter
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