At this moment, as I type this, I am sitting in the large common room at Rio Hondo deep in the Taos ski valley. Outside, snow is falling in a heavy, thundering squall. The view from this room, and my own, when not obscured with snow squalls, is of a sheer mountainside covered in Ponderosa pine that sigh in the wind all day long. The mountains here, and even the parking lot, are covered with scattered pockets of snow. From my seat here I can see a cleft in the mountain where sunlight never penetrates, and from which a vein of clean snow gleams like a waterfall.
Yesterday I went hiking through aspen meadows — honest to God aspen meadows — up to the snow line. May do another hike to a waterfall tomorrow, too, if we don’t get more thunder-powered snow squalls.
And have I mentioned the food? It’s pretty damn good up here. A guy could do a lot worse than to enjoy meals prepared by Walter Jon Williams, Melinda Snodgrass, Maureen McHugh, and Cat Valente. (Me? I’m a minion/sous chef/dishwasher.)
Conversation so far has ranged from Japanese game shows, to the essence of zombie movies, to the definition of cultural appropriation, and many sundry things.
When we’re not hard to work reading and critiquing, of course.