Santa Fe is full of ghosts, maybe spirits would be a better word. The town has always been a bohemian mixture of people, cultures and beliefs and it marks the historic end of the Santa Fe Trail. Years ago I got the idea for my song, Santa Fe Trail, while visiting the Puye cliff dwellings on Indian land west of town. A light summer shower forced me to take shelter in a small Anasazi dwelling where people had lived hundreds of years ago. There, sitting in that ancient place, you could almost feel the spirits surrounding you while the Sangre de Cristo mountains were framed outside the old stone doorway. The cool rain touched the sage and the smell was incredible. This past week Joy and I made our yearly pilgrimage back to the old city. We drank in the cantinas at night and strolled the old plaza as visitors have done for several hundred years. One morning, as the sun began to rise, I slipped out of our casita to walk thru the alleys to the center of town. In just a couple of hours the plaza would fill with Indian merchants, local workers, street musicians, tourists, and the place would come to life. But the square was quiet for the present moments before dawn with nothing but the whisper from the spirits of commancheros , mountain men, and Spanish settlers that used to frequent this same haunt. No telling what secrets lay amongst the crooked adobe walls here. Santa Fe is still a beautiful city, but don't worry, the ghosts are doing fine.