a fierce and joyful sound

Sheets of rain swept across the desert as I drove out to the volcanoes Monday. Clouds sailed across the sky drenching parts of the road, city neighborhoods, Kirtland Air Force Base, and acres of desert. A small mountain in the distance glowed white and blue under the clouds, melodramatic rays of sunlight blessing its stony flanks. Driving in the desert is a lot like sailing on the sea. You can see whole weather formations build and resolve. We don't really have rainy days, but watch distinct rain clouds on the move. In summer its so hot that rain sometimes burns up and evaporates before it ever hits the ground.

As I travel across this landscape on my way to the jail, I am deeply grateful, aware that my students never get to see this heavenly drama; only a small rectangle of sky through metal mesh in the ceiling of the reck yard.

Last week we had an early warm spell, hinting of spring. I heard a racket of men shouting when I got to the parking lot, figured they were enjoyed some rowdy games of hand ball on this mild day.

I made my way to my pod through the maze of security, sally ports and endless hall ways stinking of wax and ammonia. Most of my guys were indeed outside. Maybe thirty bare chested men were playing hand ball in the reck yard. Four Native Americans back in the corner were using a plastic lounge chair as a drum, singing their hearts out, making an enormous, fierce and joyful sound.