Today I drove to White Rock to drop of some items at the thrift shop and library. Afterwards, I drove to the Potrillo Canyon trailhead. It was a sunny, hot afternoon. Breezes were making the South Fork fire to the northwest of Los Alamos puff white smoke but at least it was not dark smoke as in a blow-up.
Seedheads of squirrel-tail grass were wafting along the trail like groups of diminutive hikers out enjoying a stroll. Magenta blooms of desert four o'clock were tightly closed against the mid-afternoon sunshine.
When I got to the overlook above the Rio Grande, I sat on a rock and contemplated where the Rio first broke through to continue it's southern path aeons ago when a volcanic eruption backed up the Rio, forming Culebra Lake. I studied various possibilities from my high perch but wasn't 100% convinced of any.
I enjoyed listening to the sound of wind as it rustled the nearby cholla and junipers. I could clearly hear and see the rapids below me. The thought crossed my mind that no matter how important my problems are to me, to the river, they are trivial, trifling and transient.
On the way back, I noted the amazing profusion of yellow prickly pear flowers. I stopped to admire a barrel cactus's flower - narrow, purple-pink, petals with a bright yellow center and a cool background of green and of white sepals.