New Mexico fall means achingly blue skies, contrasted behind golden-crowned trees and high above is the cacophony of flight.
In the stands of cottonwoods south of Socorro, thousands of sandhill cranes come to rest, picking their way through shallow water and waving grasses for seeds and tubers. Coyotes prowl around the edges looking for tired snow geese to catch.
The things that move my heart also break it — it can be hard to accept how I might lose it. The myriad of bird voices clamoring over one another are interrupted by the soft whines of mosquitos. The thirsty ground has its own call as well, curled up and crunching under my feet. Tiger moths drunkenly fly in loops and grasshoppers erupt in a flash of bright yellow. It’s here — in the midst of so much noise — my head finally quiets.
