Yurt on the Santa Fe River

I own it, but seldom do I use it. That day I was at the river house two miles down the Santa Fe River knowing that a guest was coming to have accommodations for the night among the trees. Why not go there myself to enjoy the ambiance?

What a treat. I arrive at sunset, deciding to carry two chairs to my Santa Fe River bank. Rain had been falling for a week, but for a brief moment patches of blue, turning rosy in the sunset drifted above the river. Peace descends as I sip my glass of wine. As a gentle mist drizzles down, I meander back to the yurt.

Rather than fire up the Coleman stove, I take my wine bottle, hummus and crackers, sandwich up into the tree encircled yurt. Solitude is profound as I wait for a waxing moon to illuminate gray skies. Owls begin to send their message “I'm here,” to the longed-for mate answering “I'm here too; come to see me.” No radio, no television , no computer...ahh, but cell phone I have.

I text and call my son who built the yurt with me and his brother more than 10 years ago. “I'm here. It's just as wonderful as when we built it. At 76, I can still enjoy this retreat into nature with no one there but me.”