I called them The Sentinels: four ancient warriors, standing a seemingly eternal watch on the expanse at the foot of Pueblo Peak. They had stood there, silent, still, and strong, since before the birth of any person yet alive.
Three or four years ago, one of the landmarks of this place changed forever when a combination of decay and gravity, helped along by a violent windstorm, took their final toll. Most of the first three of these old soldiers at long last collapsed, leaving more or less fully upright only the one to the far right.
I mourned their fall.
They were woven into the identity of this place, warp and weft, landscape and it’s very soulscape alike. When the three ceased their watch, something shifted irrevocably beneath our feet. It was a difficult time for many reasons, and losing three-quarters of this old guard threatened to etch into place a coda that would mark a genuine end of life as it was here.
Later that year, the woodcutters came, setting power tools to the trunks of the fallen, carving them up into manageable pieces. Aghast and stricken, I hardly dared look each time I drove past, for fear that they would have decided to fell the remaining sentry and pull up all the stumps.
Eventually, winter descended, and the remains would be safe for a few months.
Spring arrived, and with it, new ditching of the nearby acequia, and I once again passed each time with breath pent up until I could see that nothing more had been taken away.
And then, in May, something wonderful happened.
The wind-shortened warrior on the right, the one still standing, old and grizzled and wholly gray for as long as anyone could remember . . . he wore a small green headdress.
For the first time in memory, certainly the first in my time in this place, he leafed out. Pale green leaves, very small, fragile-looking, but there nonetheless.
We watched over the summer as the leaves took hold and darkened, and new shoots sprouted from the soil at his feet. We saw the leaves turn gold, then brown, then drop to the earth to be covered by snow, and held our breath the following spring as an acequia burn veered terribly out of control and zigzagged across the field, headed straight for the old sentinels’ stand. We exhaled when far too many emergency vehicles showed up and got the fire under control. And we celebrated in the weeks to come as the previous year’s tentative greenery leafed out lush and full from the main branch.
And so these ancient warriors who have stood sentry over this land for ages past have found rebirth for the generations yet to come.
So, too, are our days reborn anew.
On this day, it’s a time to bear witness to the past, yes:
A time to remember, to honor those walked on and the legacies they have left behind for us.
A time to evaluate the year just past, to recalibrate our goals and wishes and hopes in light of what we’ve done and what remains yet to do.
And, yes, a time to revisit our dreams:
A time to give hope its wings, to help those dreams take flight.
And finally, a day to dance in the light, to let the glow and warmth and colors of the sky wash over us and breathe new life into those dreams:
It’s a new day — and by the modern way of reckoning, a chain of 365 new days led out end to end on the earth before us.
It’s time to dance in the light.
We wish all of our clients, friends, and family all the blessings of a happy, healthy, peaceful, prosperous new year, one filled with joy and hope and the fulfillment of dreams long held.
~ Aji
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