There were blue skies. There was sun. There were the stiff canyon winds blowing thru the Pinyon Pines. There were blossoms just starting to bud. And there were the Canyon Wrens.
On every trail. At every switchback. On the cliffs. In the trees. In the Chisos Mountains or on the Rio Grande river. Nearby or far away. That cascading trill was with us every day.
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