I could hear it on the roof, scrabbling to get in while I stirred what was on the stove. It would stop and I would forget about it until, there it was again, banging around, trying to find a way inside. Spring. In New Mexico, spring has a sound. It is less chirping birds than a relentless howling, issued forth from the dry throat of this bitch of a wind that starts sometime in March and blows hard through the middle of April. The winds come, pushing no small measure of the desert before them, and you’d be ill-advised to venture out into the wilds of our West without a pair of sunglasses strapped to your face and a bottle of water somewhere handy—you…