Morning has broken

Lake Navajo is on the border of Colorado and stretches into New Mexico  for several miles- and quite a stretch it is.  The northern end is benign and full of farms, and the southern end rocks, sheer cliffs, pines and fir.  It reminded us of Lake Powell only by houseboats moored in the south, but  it doesn't have the same romance and mystique as Powell which is even more beautiful than the Grand Canyon.  We put Koa on my lap, sort of, and kayaked across the lake - and a twitchy, nervous 100 lb shepherd on a tippy kayak at 6,500' in cold water made me a bit twitchy.  It was a workout and when we got to shore, he ripped around in the water  and drenched us.... Robert took pity on me and rowed him back across.  The lovely green area on the shore held the awful surprise of giant stickers that only grow when the water is let out of the dam, and terrifying to walk through. 
We were the only ones at Windsurf beach and were able to regroup after the upper mountains of Colorado.  As we were in the real boonies, there was no place to eat dinner when she who must be obeyed didn't want to cook (name given to me by a Canadian friend, and  I can't tell if it was meant in a good way) so we went to a casino, eighteen miles away.
Robert's pastrami sandwich put him into the  Mayo hospital here in Scottsdale, almost a week later with food poisoning. 
In one way, his upset stomach had him up early taking some of the photos below.  

The narrow end of the lake with the evil green meadow of razor stickers

Morning has Broken - one piece of music I love:  in London at Westminster  a few years ago, a priest asked my friends and me to join him for evening prayer at the altar.  I was stunned that we sat behind the altar, staring at the tourists, and thinking about the kings and queens who had been crowned right there below us.  Even more stunned when our evening prayer guy said that we would now sing Morning has Broken.  All that pomp and circumstance and I giggled, but wasn't a total disaster as there were tears of joy, also. 

The weather people call this cloud formation viga - rain that doesn't hit the ground.  We left for the long drive across New Mexico to Az and found viga all the way down, until the last ridge we crossed found us in a dust storm with wild, wild wind.  Welcome home.
I don't think so.  Temporary home, maybe ----we are off the LA before going to our real home late this month.
The search for real wilderness is probably on the ocean.