Field Entry 3: Dan and I went on a river walk...

We had come to the river by way of Tingley Beach, which you know, if you've been there, is no way at all to get to the river. The last time I'd been there was an easy walk from the concrete beach at Tingley with its demanding honking ducks to the sand beach of the rio with its more tranquil inhabitants. This time, there was a fence between the river walk/trail and the Albuquerque Biopark railroad, on which the train from the Aquarium/Botanic Garden runs to and from the Zoo, several times daily. (The train runs often, but slowly. Very slowly. I know this because while walking head down staring at my feet kicking dirt along the miniature ties of the miniature rail line, I looked up at an oncoming toy train, and had at least 6 seconds to make up my mind not to stare it down.)

The river, it would seem, is not part of the Biopark. Nevertheless, we managed to hop the fence (all 3 feet of it) and get on the other side of managed nature into "wild nature" (ha!). And in that wilderness, it was nice to see the Rio Grande flowing with a little bit of vigor. Of course, we had to walk up a ways north of the Central bridge in order to get north of the sand bars that were dividing the flow, threatening to leave some of the water, sooner rather than later, in puddles.

I didn't bring my camera. I'm trying to come to terms with why it is I don't like to bring my camera with me--pictures are always so nice later, but the weight of the camera, the burden of documentation has always been uncomfortable to me, and so I happily let Dan snap pictures of the graffiti we encountered under the bridge (beautiful pieces, really), as I looked around and breathed in clear blue sky.

The cottonwood leaves were a pale yellow turning to grey, like they always do this time of year, but the full ground cover of leaves hadn't yet jumped from the trees, so there were plenty of other things to look at near our feet. Browning and yellowing grasses, the paving rock that delineates the walking paths through the Bosque, not to mention the light sand, and the million or so different kinds of sticking things that reach out and grab your pants, socks, shoelaces as you walk past. Just hitchin' a ride. Spreadin' the gospel of stickers far and wide.

It was the stickers that caught our attention most, I think. We each picked up an oblong (about an inch by a half inch) round burr that had tiny hooks on the ends (like Velcro) and tried sticking them to ourselves. It's kind of fun to play in nature, you know?

We saw a family with a couple of kids getting their hands in the mud of the riverbank. Splashing. Laughing. The mother pointed out to her children the things that were different since the last time they'd been there. I heard in my head a Joni Mitchell song my mom used to sing, "oh the seasons, they go round and round and the painted ponies go up and down. We're captive on a carousel of time..." Indeed, the seasons do change, so predictably, acting as bookmarks in our memories, causing us to look forward to the time when they change again, and then dread again the shortening of days. But what would life be without seasons?

....

On the way back from the river, past the picnic tables, the oddly placed wooden railings, the signs that warn you of falling limbs, the Central bridge, the short, odd chain link fence that doesn't invite you jump it, but certainly doesn't warn you not to, we saw the train moping back from the Aquarium to the Zoo. This time, at least, I saw it before I stepped on the tracks.