This morning I had a meditative sink-in outside my Mexican Hat motel room. It was akin to the opening credits of Mike Nichols‘ Catch 22 (’70). It began around 4:30 am — pretty much pitch black. I heard the occasional howl of a coyote, faint but definitely no dog. And then a couple of yelping dogs, and ever so gradually, like it’s done for a hundred million mornings since before the dinosaurs, the light began to creep in by slight undetectable increments, and again the dogs, the coyote and the sinking of the moon.
I waited too long to take this. The Canon always adds light that isn’t there.