Last eve I passed beside a blacksmith’s door
And heard the anvil ring the vesper chime;
When looking in, I saw upon the floor,
Old hammers worn with beating years of time.*

This poem comes to mind whenever I see this picture. It was taken on a stormy, stormy day on the way to Hovenweep. There was thunder and wind and the light had a deep reddish tinge to it that I hadn’t seen before. Lightning was there too, but it was too fast for my shutter, so I have to imagine it again each time I view  this image.

Storms in this part of the country don’t last all that long. They tend to be intense but over soon. They’re not like the slow-moving deep-soaking storms back in the Midwest where they last for hours. Those can be heavy but unless they’re tornado type thunderstorms they seem manageable. These western storms are not manageable. They break on you in moments with a fierceness that is almost personal and care little for the aftermath.

That is part of the allure of these big open spaces. The land is big, the views are big, the weather bigger still. This hugeness with all its wonders and dangers and intensity becomes part of you. You can move away but you cannot forget it.

The anvil rings loudest for those who listen.

* From The Anvil Of God’s Word by John Clifford