Camping Near the Rio Grande Rift

We put in a long day mapping outcrops in Canyon Madera, guessing the ages of the granites, the relationships one to another, Still had to drive from Cuba to Coyote, then the logging road that ends in a meadow. Second night of a full moon.  In the pond at the edge of the meadow,  two beavers swam heads up.  Sea dragons shining in the moon. He called me back to help unload the gear in the hiss and glow of a Coleman lantern At the edge of the cold aureole, our dog looked away from the wavering light toward–what? Here’s why I’m telling you this story. Next morning, everything we’d tucked beside our bedroll–socks, sweaters, moccassins–was scattered over the meadow.  Something filled the dog with tricks. In the night I dreamed I killed a mountain lion.  He lunged for me, missed. I caught him off guard, lifted his warm weight, strangling and bashing him against the side of a red truck. It was a hard waking beneath the cold, stiff tarp. I didn’t know where I was when I saw that confusion of clothes strewn on the field.