As the river rises with spring melt from the mountains, Abiquiu dam opens flooding the river to overflowing. The men come to clean the acequias or ditches that will bring life bringing water into the fields to irrigate the crops. All the farmers share this precious water, and having “water rights” determines whether crops will thrive or perish…
Every morning a shimmering golden orb mirrors the river whose serpentine shape and echoing voice welcomes me as I walk out to feed the birds and walk my dogs. I respond to her rumbling roar of water on stone with a prayer of thanksgiving for the gift of water, the rising sun, and a new day spent in this place of unimaginable beauty.
I have fallen in love with a river.
What Spirits decreed that I might live here for a time?
For months I climbed to the ruin of Poshuouinge to glimpse the serpentine path of water meandering below wondering what stories the river held close to her heart. Generations of Tewa speaking Pueblo peoples lived here along the river’s banks, women digging mud, shaping pots out of wet clay, creating art with agave brushes, men carving swiftly flying arrows, clearing the acequias, planting, harvesting, hunting giving thanks for the river’s generosity…people struggling to live in harmony with the land they called “Mother.”
Yet there was much suffering too. Too much blood was shed. Children and women were stolen by those who believed they had more “rights” than others, people who used other people and earthscapes for personal gain. Yet the People endured and some live on today in Pueblos scattered along the river.
Is this why the river tells me that I too must be steadfast, make peace with a troubled past, leave land that I love deeply, come to live here as a child would, trusting the river’s ebb and flow?
Is this why I have met such generous hearted people, people I could come to love?
Did the river draw them to her just as she calls to me now?
These questions haunt me because Place has a kind of Power that works invisibly through Fate and body/mind pulling a person into relationship with a particular element – like the water of this river – but this power never uses words to communicate. Instead, Nature calls her red winged blackbirds to sing their hearts out as I listen fervently for confirmation.
These black robed muses are answering my call.
It is up to me to make the choice to believe these birds whose Presence I see and hear, but whose message I cannot as yet feel.
3 thoughts on “River Muses”
Wonderful poetic essay , thank you Sara. Too bad the acequia on our stretch mostly waters fields of alfalfa to feed cattle . I have heard that in the past , not too long ago , wheat was grown here , and matter of fact I know of one near by field where it still is cultivated to this day .
This is very interesting information – yes, too bad the field fed cattle – where, I wonder is the field with wheat?
Beautiful … I loved reading it.