Not quite night and no longer day, not quite spring and no longer winter… I step outside into crisp mountain air, greeted by the faint sound of running water somewhere down slope from my cabin. Running water?! This is high desert; no water runs on my land.
But it was a “good” winter: Over eleven feet of snow, all told. The water table has risen and the springs which the Ute Indians relied upon only a century and a half ago are flowing again, having retreated underground for a multi-year drought that has only recently shown signs of abating.
