robins and woven nest

Thunder rolled deep into the canyon like boulders tumbling somewhere off in the cosmos. Pablo had walked for hours, lost in thought, the walls in the wilderness rising and narrowing until there was but a blue slit above him, black clouds clogging the once clear blue strip of sky. He followed a stream, rocks in the shallows magnified by the lens of crystal clear water.
Just this morning he climbed out of bed in Silver City, and on a whim, drove the two hours north through the towering mountains. Yesterday, as he stood on the humming assembly line, Ramon Ortiz told Pablo about his grandfather. Ramon's abuelo was a curandero who once collected medicinal herbs in those mountains. Pablo's mind filled with green and gold images as his fingers mindlessly laced fine wires into small openings.
Now thunder cracked. Fat drops began to pelt Pablo's arms with a stinging forcefulness. Deep in the canyon, miles from the trailhead, Pablo could not have seen the anvil-like thunderheads building over the mountain tops. He could not have seen the black curtains of rain sweeping across the landscape. He entered a cathedral of rock formations devoid of daylight. The trail turned. The once small and shallow river rose as if some power had ordered it so. Pablo watched as the edges of the stream spread outward. In a moment he was standing in ankle deep water. The clarity was gone. A now milky stream swirled around his calves. He looked up. The sandstone walls dripped, stained wet and dark. Pablo cursed. He should have known better. He imagined his friend Ramon Ortiz, hands busy with the multicolored wires, dry inside the factory.
Thunder cracked again. There was a flash of light in the canyon. Water to his knees.


(funny large)