After a long, dark sleep, spring in New Mexico is not seen but
heard—The sound of the wind travels over the valley, while a mélange of waters rush toward lower ground. Wrote the poet Lucie Brock-Broido:
There was always the murmur, you remember, about
going home.
The murmur of the acequia in March is also the murmur of home. To dress yourself daily is to
refamiliarize yourself in the place that you live, your body the home for every thought,
decision, and moment of beauty experienced.