Let Wild Rivers Flow

Let Wild Rivers Flow

Three Bighorn rams,
Easily driven past,
Rest within a couple yards from the road’s metal guardrail.
Just behind them the Rio Grande Gorge drops 600 feet,
Making me wonder if they had made the climb up from the river.
With last winter’s fur shedding out,
Their muscular bodies lie unperturbable under the shade of desert strong,
pinon pine.

To stand on the edge of the chasm’s rim dizzies the mind.
A rugged vista of earth, ripped apart by the slow movement of time and
pressure, meets the vastness of pristine blue sky.
Vertical walls almost mirror themselves in this rift canyon,
Sister sides of seemingly unapproachable cliff.
Immense black boulder fields lie fallen below,
Volcanic chunks cut loose by the elements.
In the bottom, a ribbon of river slices a silver line of bending reflection.

My old bones have stood here before,
Anticipating a descent carved out by human imagination.
A thin path of stairsteps and loose rock switchbacks
Steadily navigate through layers of eroding existence.

Softer soils settle into a shelf supporting Ponderosa Pine, Juniper and Pinon,
A welcome refuge from the previous barren harshness.
River sounds waft closer riding on April breezes that still carry an early
morning chill.
Across sandy flats, prickly pear, sage and rice grass inhabit this ancient
hunting ground of deer and Bighorn sheep.
Petroglyphs record their history and passing.

Now in view, the river runs a translucent turquoise hue,
Its tranquility interrupted by steeper flows turned into rapids.

To my unexpected delight,
A group of otters tussle and tumble from muddy banks into recirculating
eddies.
Sleek, wet sable fur flattens against their cold-hardy skin.
It is impossible to distinguish where one creature begins and another ends.
Jumbled brown bodies entwine in a slippery tangle,
Exhibitions of frolic and play repeated over and over again,
Just for the fun of it.
Occasionally, a whiskered head pokes above the surface with curiosity.

Aside from all this revelry,
The water level is shockingly low,
Lower than I have ever seen it in fifty years.
At a time when spring runoff typically begins overflowing banks,
Polished ebony boulders lie stranded on dry land.
A whitish residue of receding water minerals creates a high-water mark 3 feet
above the shallow channel.
The lack of winter snowpack continues an extreme drought.
How will the river endure the months of summer heat?
Can rain storms bring enough moisture to sustain this water source?
Where are the caretakers of this vulnerable habitat?

Stuck in a paradox,
My mind struggles to sort out dire visions of the future
From the exquisite beauty of the present moment.

Lying back on dried grass and flattened horsetail reeds,
I indulge in the water melodies that sooth these disturbed worries.
The river sings and dances,
Catching sunlight sparkles.
It gives off a sense of acceptance,
Come what may.
It knows no struggle,
Simply being a river.

The midday heat bakes against the obsidian basalt
To make the climb out sweaty and slow,
Demanding a pace based on heartbeats.

In the inviting shade of giant Ponderosa,
Tender Pasque flowers push through last year’s fallen needles.
Pale purple buds
Open cups of tinted white petals.
A bee gathers pollen from curly yellow stamen,
Luscious nectar of life.
Cycles repeat their rhythmic arrival,
An exquisite appearance,
If only for a little while.

Continuing up the boulder-strewn path,
I cannot keep straight
The number of switchbacks
That cut through the heat-soaked cliffs.

The river sounds no longer.
Snapshots of liquid silver-blue remain,
Dream-like memories.
Once again these old bones return to stand on the precarious edge,
Momentarily, contemplating fates, as yet to be determined.

River flows at Cerro, NM near Wild Rivers
March 25, 2026 462 Cubic Feet Per Second (CFS)
March 30, 2026 133 CFS probably due to irrigation starting up in Colorado.
April 12, 2026 109 CFS
April 17, 2026 96.3 CFS

US Geological Survey assessment – on a scale from extremely above, much above, above, normal, below, much below, extremely below 109 CFS is rated much below, a 5 to 10 percentile range. Several tributaries that feed the Rio Grande have already fallen into the extremely below category.

Copyright 2026 Magic Square Productions

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