In the Mountains
Rio Hondo is always a strange balancing act between the extraordinary beauty of the landscape and the nearly perfect temperature, and the vicissitudes of altitude. Just climbing the steps at the Snow Bear lodge is challenging for us (we all get to the top floor and pause, gasping.) Altitude makes people sleep fitfully. The air is so dry that my sinuses are whacked. The cottonwoods are dropping a dusting of cottonwood and Daniel Abraham's allergies are in full bloom. Alcohol hits us all twice as hard. Last night, Walter made margaritas. I figure we'll be positively giddy at today's critique. Today we do three stories, including Walter's. Tomorrow we do the last two. Sunday I fly to Wisconsin for the Writer's on the Lake. My email is working poorly, alas.