Given the usual bounty of golden light in these mountains, many homes have rooftop solar voltaic cells, above the dense thermal mass of mud-brown adobe walls.
With recent days of fog and heavy chemtrails, I know an off-grid, adobe-dwelling friend has grown uneasy and careful of turning on her low wattage light bulbs. Her home is round and snug and heated with a beautiful old Jøtul woodstove.
Frank Lloyd Wright had decried obtrusive discordant structures dominating their landscapes, even before McMansions! He sited homes below the crest of a hill for example.
The ancient pueblos here seem to rise from deeper than we know, a kiva-delved land.
How precariously we nest on this wild planet. If it's covered with asphalt and cement and honking taxis, we tend to forget the living earth beneath our feet, and waters supporting our wee boats on the vast sea.
I read this morning about Inuit elders emailing NASA, concerned about the disturbing Arctic skies, sun and moon rising differently and weather impossible to predict, not a casual issue in the Far North.
The juxtaposition of Inuit oral history knowledge and HAARP tickled my whimsy bone. Will "we" listen?
There's talk among pilots of magnetic north gone walkabout and coordinates being quietly changed on runways. We on earth who may resist change find ourselves smack-dab in the midst of it.
Meanwhile, the carbon-credits global-warming scam has gone the way of the north wind.
Tonight, I'll light the twigs and logs ready in the kiva fireplace, sip lemon verbena/rooibos/honeybush tea, and read as the snow falls.
Good to be alive, though "normal" ground may feel a bit shaky.