After having a few weeks to sit with some photos that I took in New Mexico last month, I knew I wanted to write something from the Taos Pueblo.
A clay multi-leveled collection of homes sits in the valley below the Sangre de Cristo Mountains. For nearly 1000 years the people of Taos Pueblo have called this home. And we were able to visit their home one morning before heading south to Santa Fe.
We spent the early part of the morning walking around the sandy alleys and meeting spaces of the Pueblo, talking to those that live there, drinking a blue butterfly pea flower lemonade and picking up some fresh baked cinnamon biscuits.
While admiring the history and experiencing a different culture, we saw new colors and met new friends.
While walking the loop around, we had to cross the creek and a man by the name of Alfred stopped us.
Taos Pueblo; Creek of the Red Willows
Sandy ground of the Earth floor under our feet;
waves of clear water sky above us, waving and sharing a smile to the people whose homes we photograph and awe. Fresh cinnamon cookies still steam from the outdoor clay dome oven. A copper bracelet twisted from a woman in her home grounds my wrist.
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The Creek of the Red Willows splits the pueblo, a lightning strike of moving spirit. Flute Mountain Buck (Alfred) halts our stroll.
Look up the creek, see the jagged edges and the roughness of the water?
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Hands pulled together, fingers pointed to the sun, like he tells us to, Now think about what you need gone, released. The water will release it for you. Hmm, easy.
The sacred power of the water flows through this ancient city in the mountains. It’s found by looking up to the peaks of the Blood of Christ Mountains to the willows lining the creek symbolizing and bringing hope and revitalization. Rebirth.
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The creek sparked and shone, and piercing sounds of obstructed currents reigned. Turn around. A veil lifted, an obstacle absent, a weight taken.
See the smoothness and constant flow. It has been released. Gone.
Somewhere in the waters of the Red Willow, doubts and fears, insecurity and anger were left and taken in the moving current among the rapids.
Our water is sacred.
Thank you, Alfred. So is the water I worship. The goodness and holiness of the water met me again in the mountains of Taos,
above the creek of the Red Willows.
On our way to Santa Fe, we drove back through the main streets making up Taos and I happened to see a “free books” shelf on the patio of a store. I pulled over and turned around. Why not check it out…you never know what you can find. I’ve been collecting books found on my travels now so let’s hope there’s something good or unique.
I browsed through the unfamiliar titles and authors and tried to make out what some of the french titles could have been. I picked up a few little french books, a book of poems from the animals on the ark for a kids room someday, and then I saw a rust red skinny book - the skinny ones are usually of poetry I’ve figured out - and I pulled it from the middle of a shelf.
“Willow Water” by Erica Mumford. A new name, but a familiar subject of a title. I laughed at the irony, or maybe the meeting of transcendence being so quick to move, I’m not sure which one it was in the moment to be honest. I flipped through the book and it looked interesting, and it was from 1988 which meant it didn’t have any “pro-technology” or “ultra-political” talk most likely, which I value in writing and what I choose to read.
I saw that there was a book mark stuck two thirds of the way through. A bookmark referring to a poetry publisher. Can you guess the name of the publisher?
Alfred.
So whoever held this book before me, was a poet, I’m assuming. Hoping. And whoever read this book before me was a part of making me laugh on the side of the road in Taos on a Friday morning in May.
I feel seen by the Water again.
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As always, thank you to everyone for your individual and collective support of me and my work. Getting an encouraging message truly brightens my day and makes me feel like my island isn’t that small after all.
I’ve been spending the last handful of months working on a large project — a book. My debut poetry book. A collection of poems and thoughts from the last year, my first year publicly publishing and writing poetry. You, through my newsletter, will be the first to know about the release date, presale date, and more. I’m in the final stages of preparing the book for print and am hoping for a summer release date. Because of your support — through word of mouth sharing, personal encouragement, and financial giving — this is possible and I can’t wait to share more with you soon.
Until next time,
Madeline
So enjoyed your writing and pictures of Taos Pueblo. You feel as if you are there with you enjoying the beauty of the area, meeting Alfred and eating that cinnamon treat . Yum! Now we have your book to look forward to. Thank you for sharing your talent.
Rachel Mullenbach
Nicely done as usual as I f’ing your writing peaceful, relaxing and grateful. Nice tribute to Alfred.