As a cold totally dark night in Santa Fe fell there was no moon and no stars. The temperature was below freezing and there wasn’t the slightest hint of wind. The cold entered deeply though your face, your hands, your very body as you breathed the freezing air. Your bones became the repository of the cold and promised to release it only slowly. No matter if you stood in front of the fire, or poured fire down your throat, you were going to be cold for a long time.

As you hurried to your restaurant with its promise of roaring fires and delicious smells the lights began to come on. Slowly at first then gaining in brightness as the darkness softly provided the contrast. What an amazing contradiction. The promise of warmth that you see and feeling the exact opposite with every breath you take. The beauty of the bold shapes, the look of the intense colors as they shaded from light to dark. It was a pointillist painters dream come true. If Georges Seurat were here you know he would brave paint freezing in the tube and hands paralyzed with cold to paint this scene.

The colors were mesmerizing as the muted yellow of sun gave way to orange, then amber, and finally melded into the deep sharp reds of luminous coals buried deep in the bottom of a perfect fire. All presented against a background of inky black that was the night. But then that’s the magic of Santa Fe, and the magic of a perfect night, the cold not withstanding.