The view from Balwin Cabin Public Library in Datil March, whether lionish or lambish, is a month of motion in upper Southwest New Mexico. Snowbirds from Minnesota and Michigan crowd U.S. 60 with their fat motorhomes, heading back north from the sun-burnt winter in the deserts of Arizona and California. The highway is further clogged by residents of southwest Catron County departing during school's spring break for exotic destinations like Alamogordo or Las Cruces .
Flies arrive in the house, rising from hibernation after the first warm days.
Obese, and buzzing somnambulantly around a light bulb, they're easy to swat. Untended crocus ease up through the thirsty earth. Way above the earth, flying machines of the 21st century commit sonic booms over my house, which the Air National Guard must have classified as uninhabited wilderness. Every log in the habited house vibrates while the dog howls, and the horse tramples the pretty pink crocus. Day by day I move out of my electric-blanketed bed a tad earlier with the rising sun.