Rooftops

One of my favorite spots in Santa Fe is the rooftop of the La Fonda Hotel, the bell tower they call it. From there you can see far to the west and north, and to the east, beyond the Loretto Chapel steeple, the mountains are close enough to touch, almost. Sound, which travels unencumbered in the high desert air, approaches palpable, promising activity below brush of rabbit and lizard and ant, unwitnessed by human eye. The raven perched atop tall lights that illuminate the night is reading my thoughts, understands them far better than I, and KWAAK-KWAAKS his approval that I might be on to something.

After a while, this town can become just another place, where most go to work, in offices, delivering fuel, stocking grocery shelves, enforcing laws, serving and saving lives in every way imaginable. If you give in to the ordinariness of life, to what you expect and what is expected of you, if the sound of impatient horns and angry voices fills your head, you just might miss the lovely quiet chorus happening beneath the mountain brush that you must reach toward to smell from the rooftop of the La Fonda.

It seems that I must reconcile myself to what finally is an ugly truth about this place on the high desert. We are a city of people living in close quarters. I can’t use the word “folks”. It suggests a kindness that doesn’t suit the habits of the willful, those who insist on living their lives squarely in the face of others. Walls that should spare our dignity save us not. Doors and windows left open to fetch the summer air guarantee an audience. Those who are forced to witness turn their heads in embarrassment, cock their ear in disbelief. Is this how it must be? I am ashamed. We should be mortified. We must.

The bells of St. Francis toll the half hour. People rush about on their holiday. Dogs wag their tails in the shade of the plaza. The Pentecost plays out on cell phones. We understand much about one another, but really, very little. The La Fonda rooftop is closed, the view of the Sangre de Cristo called Sun and Moon unseen until that time of day when voices are quieted as awe has its way.

Rooftops—Santa Fe, New Mexico (August 12, 2008)

R. Harold Hollis