I awoke at the Taos Inn, and still felt pretty awful, which answered the question of whether I would try to swim in the morning. I had no energy at all, and wondered how long I could spend in bed. I finally got up and showered, then headed into the lobby for coffee. My plan had been to drive to a restaurant that my guide book recommended for breakfast, but once I was in the lobby, I decided to take the path of least resistance, and I headed back to the Bent Street Deli for breakfast. My appetite was off, and even eating seemed like a chore. I asked my waitress about my plan to head to the northeastern part of the state for the night, and she was positive about it, although she cautioned that they might have snow. I wondered if my stamina would hold for the day. Back at the hotel, I checked out of my room and sat by the fire in the lobby again, catching up on this blog.
Finally, I headed out into Taos. My first stop was back to Bent Street, as I decided I wanted to see if the artist I met there would make a larger painting of dragonflies for me. I found out his name is Frank, and he offered me a price on a full drawing. Because I did not have a drawing to view, and he would only take cash, I demurred. The thing about Frank is that, while his work is compelling, his customer service skills are not great. He told me his dragon flies were selling very well, so I knew if he created something and I did not return for it, he would be able to sell it anyway. I made 
my way to the Hacienda de los Martinez, a house museum south of Taos that provides a glimpse into Spanish colonial life. Unfortunately, the museum had moved into winter hours and was closed. The best I could do was some photos of the outside, rather than visit the inside.
The trip was not a loss, however, as on my way there, I had passed the tasting room for the Black Mesa Winery. Since I now had some found time, I stopped in. Two women were finishing, so I sat down for a tasting, which included eight wines and a complimentary glass. Craig, who was pouring, had been born at Ft. Belvoir, which is a neighbor of mine back in my real world. We sat for some time, chatting about life and family histories, politics and wine in the area. Craig had been the sommelier at the Taos Inn, and was now working for the winery. Once he learned about my taste in wine, he offered some advice and additional tastings from their selection. I don’t know how long I was there, but I realized in the midst of it that things move slower in New Mexico and when it comes to conversation, that’s a good thing.
I headed back t
o Bent Street to check in with Frank. He had created a piece for me, although he admitted he was not certain I would return for it. The piece was not the full page of paper stock I had requested; rather it was about a third of the page, but it was beautifully done. He had wanted $50 for a full print, and $45 for this.
I knew I could attempt to negotiate with him, but I also knew that the value did not lie in the size of the print, but in the craft, and this one was more elaborate than the small painting I had seen earlier in the week. Apparently, Frank works best in miniature. The piece was lovely, and I would spend more than what he was asking for it on a hotel stay or a tank of gas. He was sitting outside in the cold all day trying to earn an income. I thought about Craig, and his generosity with wine and conversation, and decided to be generous as well. We agreed on a price; Frank wrote a personal note on the back wishing me harmony on my horizons, and blessings for me and mine.
I headed out again on the Paseo del Pueblo for Rancho de Taos. I was soon at the San Francisco de Asis Church, a lovely adobe structure on the edge of present-day Taos. 
In addition to its history and beauty, the church is well known for the Shadow of a Cross painting that is housed in the parish hall across the street. For $3, the parish guide, Nora, will escort you to a seat in front of the painting and put on a video about the church. I must admit again here that I have this strange phobia of being alone in churches because the statuary seems human to me. Maybe it’s not human, but transcendent in a way that scares me. So when Nora left me alone in front of the life-size painting of Jesus that has mysterious powers and other statuary, I freaked out a little. Nora put off the lights on her way out, so I went over and turned them back on. When she came back, she scolded me a little, but I explained it to her and she left them on, which was kind of her. After the video was over, she had me examine the painting (which is not to be photographed, but you can see it on the link above–which gave me chills again). In the light, it has some interesting qualities. Not only does Jesus follow you with his eyes wherever you go, his feet seem to turn toward you no matter where you go. The paint has decayed since it was completed in 1896, and is starting to crack, but only on the parts of the painting that surround Christ; the paint on him is intact. All of that is nothing compared to what happens when all the lights are turned off. The background paint turns luminescent in the dark, and images of a boat and cross appear on the Sea of Galilee that provides the 
background. Nobody is quite sure why this happens, as radium was not invented in 1896, and tests of the canvass offer no solution. It is a remarkable effect. After experiencing the painting, Nora and I headed into the church where we looked at the raredos, stations and other artistic elements inside. I made one last stop at the gift shop before heading back to my car and my journey out of Taos.
I headed up the Enchanted Circle, a scenic drive circling Wheeler 
Peak and passing through small towns like Angel’s Fire and Eagle’s Nest.
Like my trip on the High Road to Taos, I was fighting sunset at this point in the day. Nevertheless, I could make out that this part of the landscape was of coniferous trees quite different from the desert scrub I had become used to in New Mexico. I drove through the area admiring the landscape and stopping for the occasional photo. 
It was dark by the time I reached Cimarron, off the Enchanted Circle and part of the Santa Fe Trail. Both my morning waitress and my guide book had pointed out the St. James Hotel, which is renowned for its hearty meals and its ghosts. I stopped for dinner, encountering my first snow of the season. 
The hostess kindly put me by the fire, which was cozy, and I enjoyed a sopapilla stuffed with chicken, a combination I had not seen before. Meanwhile, life at the hotel and bar continued on as it has for a century or so.
I headed back out into the snow heading further north to Raton, where I was supposed to stay at the area’s only Bed and Breakfast, The Heart’s Desire Inn. I had made a reservation, and since I generally travel with my dog, I have never stayed at a B&B in the US. I arrived at 7:30 pm, but when I knocked, the only creature who responded was the household cat. It seemed eager to meet me, but there was no sign of anyone else about. I tried again, and phoned, leaving a message. The car temp indicated that we had reached 13 degrees, but I stood outside for ten minutes trying to raise the owner. From the little I could see, this B&B lived up to the stereotype, from the Victorian sense of over-decoration to the friendly cat greeting me. Perhaps I violated some kind of B&B code by arriving late in the day. In any case, nobody was there to meet me, so I headed back to the highway and a chain hotel. It was then that I realized my cold was on the wane and, if I could find a pool, I would have made full of use of it. What a difference a day makes (and maybe a glass of wine or two).