What an ungodly time to post anything about chukar. Right now, all here is mud. Now is the time to focus on the losing battles of keeping your house as clean as you in no way can. Now is the time to ignore dirt drying on carpet if at all possible. Now is the time to look at pictures of the fall in a silly, futile effort to pretend things are drier and cleaner.
I just happened across this photo from last December. It appears to me now as some sort of miracle. Taken by my wife in a fraction of a second, one frozen moment of my 51-plus years here, followed by two boys a fraction of my age, traversing velvety-beige glowing, basalt-infested undulating slopes of cheatgrass choked earthfolds, its surrealness starts tears. How does this happen? What things had to align themselves for this one moment, regardless of whether – but only because – it was photographed? It is uncanny. And then you realize that every photograph says this much and more.
Thank god. Thank god for life and memory. We do what we do, and – as long as we can – we remember.