Instead of attending the Indian Market
in the village square,
we chose an afternoon
below the clouds cloaking Wheeler Peak.
The aspen welcomed us
to the lake, to the hinged stand of stone
for a picnic and the chatter
of pinyon jays and pikas.
A petroglyph spiral and turtle
speaks to nineteen-seventies hippies
more than the ancient ones,
more than the current residents of Taos Pueblo.
We remained until the shadows informed us,
Get moving or you’ll be descending in the dark.
copyright © 2019 Kenneth P. Gurney