Sunday, September 2, 2012

Dusk in San Miguel

Sometimes, at dusk, San Miguel is almost achingly beautiful.  Tonight, I took a coffee and my embroidery up to my roof deck to watch the rich orange sun burn down backed by a high bank of purplish clouds.  As I was enjoying the scene, suddenly, from behind the neighborhood bar, came the familiar powerful voice of Pavarotti singing Puccini.  I got up on my tiptoes to peer over the mesquite tree to see who this neighbor might be.  I don’t know.  Against the muted barking of dogs, I watched headlights come down the highway into town, and I remembered how I first came “home” to San Miguel, and I remembered why this is home.  Sometimes, all it takes is someone sharing a song (maybe with a noise that for some is too loud), but up on a roof deck, a woman might rise to greet the dusk, astonished at what she found. 

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