Ode to Sandia Mountains

Sandia mountains,
strange name for such solidity.
Gazing at you grounds me,
with your peaks 5.5 thousand feet
above my abode.
Birthed 10-30 million years ago
breaching through a fault,
your young stone and tipped rock
rare among mountains.
A vivid memory of trilobite
fossils on your crest
remain fixed in my memory
strengthening an effect of continuity
in my life.
Watermelon lush red of your peaks at dusk
ease slipping into
day’s darkening end,
as refreshing as tasting its
fruit’s sweet juice.
Sleepily stretching into the next morn,
my sight of your stolid gray form
reliably scaffolds purposeful
beginning in my day,
though your visage can vary greatly.
Wet, with freshly rain washed
green peaks and troughs,
you laugh with green awakened life.
Dried through long periods
of harshly glaring sunlit days,
your slopes brown,
with signs of deadening thirst
among your drought, diseased trees,
so vulnerable to insects.
In winter months,
(erratically shortened now)
your peaks are arrayed
in brilliant white gowns,
glistening in sunlight of rare snowfalls.
Yet they gloriously sing winter carols,
raising hope for
rushing spring rivers & streams.
In diligently working that this dream could be real,
I soak in your profound resilience.

c. Betsy Diaz, Water Advocate - 1/30/2026

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