My writing residency completed, I visited Bosque del Apache on the return trip home. I drove to the wetlands after a hearty breakfast, arriving on the Bosque by 5:30 a.m.

A glorious sunrise, announced by the trumpet of an elk and quavering voices of waterfowl waking on the glassy surface of the water, played in nature's symphony. I rolled down the window of my car to listen.

To think that there are still places on Earth where mornings dawn in this manner. My car's entrance probably ruined some duck's morning; I tried to be as unobstrusive as possible, grateful to join the community of life there even if I was uninvited.

Bosque del Apache is home to thousands of Canadian geese and sandhill cranes that overwinter on the fields and wetlands in south central New Mexico. In October, right now probably, the Rio Grande waters begin filling otherwise grasscovered mesas, a watershed now managed by the U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service to mimic historical flows along the Rio Grande. There were already small flocks of geese swooping over the permanent lagoon. That is where I headed about 6:30 when the sun was overhead.

Here is my biodiversity list for that glorious morning, the only human being on the lagoon for hours: Golden Eagle; King Fisher; Pheasant; Western Grebe; American Coot; Purple Martin; Barn Swift; Woodpecker; White Crowned Sparrow; Great White Pelican;Turkey Vulture; Canadian geese; elk; cottonwood, willow, scrub oak; millet, smartweed, chufa (nut sedge), three-square bulrush grasses. Canadian geese like to nibble on the the bulrush and sandhilll cranes fatten up on chufa nuts.

I made reservations to return the weekend of November 16 when the Sandhill Crane Festival takes place. All humanity shows up, but at least we are outnumbered by literally hundreds of thousands of the North American birds! And, they attract predators like the coyote that hunts in packs on delicious fowl - all a wiley coyote can manage. Normally gaunt and scavenger of trashy morsels, the coyote on the Bosque are plumb with thick tawny fur. Life is full here in the late fall when the winged ones come to visit.

Frank Waters and his lovely wife Barbara are often on my mind these days. The Frank Waters Foundation is an island in the turbulent sea of modernity. I will always remember my time in the little studio on El Salto Road by the aspen grove, the surrounding countryside, a veritable cornucopia of fruit, berries and wildflowers blazing their last opulence before the mountain cold robs the vine.

Bears came down the mountain to visit Barbara's apricot and apple trees...and trash can. I never saw one personally, but their tracks were around. On my way home on highway 191 traveling south through Arizona's alpine forests, a large brown bear met me, zigzagging up the medium in what looked like a grand frolick, his thick fur rippling down his large back in the morning sun. We passed each other with a brief glance.

Apparently all is well in some part's of God's country.