Sandman's Journal

Having left I-25 South yesterday morning at Socorro, I meandered west until I found myself in the Gila National Forest. I've been missing, I think. Left valuables in a cabin in Glenwood, then backtracked three miles to Alma, where I traversed a canyon laced with red rock arches and the chipped tombstones of 19th-century soldiers and miners. As dusk descended, I imagined the presence of cougars and Mogollon spirits, so I rock-hopped briskly back to Glenwood. Awoke this morning at 4, jazzed to be driftless. After browsing through tourist brochures, I motored south to the San Francisco Hot Springs trailhead. The pre-dawn hike was dreamlike--crystal fossils, spiny plants, and a star-skulled roadrunner lit the path. A mile or so in, I waded pantless in the sandy-bottomed S.F. River, to get to three steaming springs excavated from the bank. In each, boulders and mud held off the river's flow. I sank into deepest and warmest, to my chin. Two ravens circled: Blissful & Devout. Surrounded by earth, wind, fire, and hot water, I greeted Madame Sun.