"we're going to see with new eyes / when we trip the light"

In Santa Fe, the usually pale chimisa brush is blooming, yellowing the hills -- random breezes are heady with their scent. On the mountains looking down on the city, the aspen are starting to turn, groves golden in patches. The nights are down to nippy, with the clarity of starlight.

It's autumn in New Mexico.

( water above mountain mutates to mountain above thunder )