Ponderosa Country
Ponderosa Pine at the Southern Edge of the Rocky Mountains Sante Fe Plaza, New Mexico
Posts
The Riven Tree
The trail is quiet, not a bird breaks the silent, trackless, virgin Colorado Powder. Time itself rests from its relentless, steady, pushing and cracking through to an unmarked path. No spring on the wing, no thaw, no new growth needling its way into a new spring morning. No, not yet.
The Continuing Saga of Green, the Sinclair Station Protector
Our hardy photographer was again exploring the myths and sagas of the Ancient West, when he or she snapped this amazing shot of Green, the legendary protector of the Sinclair station in Southern Colorado. The rumor is (probably) true!! Every now and then, just once in a while, Green steps away from his daily vigil and his nightly nap to wander the midnight streets of Fairplay. Notice the slight turn of the head, the tiny smile, the mischievous gleam of the eye. To re-enjoy the origin legend of Green, see http://discoveringmeaninginlife.blogspot.com/search?q=green+egg
Snow Grazing
It's late afternoon in the Arkansas River Valley in Southern Colorado. Cattle graze on the yellow leftovers from the fall harvest, probably alfalfa.
Autumn Remains of the Day
Thank you for your service.... Callery Pear Tree Leaves, November 24 2016 /br /br
Apple Harvest Time Along the Reservoir
I was stuck on a limb on the upper east side, I haven't a clue how I got there! I was hungry and cold and I needed a nap, I was lonely and full of despair. I was inching along in the best way I could, but I haven't got feet, and I slipped on the wood! I am fortunate, though, I fell onto this hole! So, I ate and I ate, and I'm gaining some weight, I am warm, I feel great, all I need is a mate! I am ready nourish my soul! Along the East Side of the Reservoir, Central Park
A Wrinkle in Time
I looked along the wrinkles in my couch, looking for a random blink of karma. A tiny warp in the woof of time. Oh yes, here's one, and it’s a beauty.I'm weaving away at a plain wool blanket, horse outside, warm piles left to show the way for the summer grass. Oh that’s too far off. I had a saddle though, it was western style, squeaky and smelling of old leather. Aspens along the ridge. Oh that leather smell! Pines in the background, sounds of the horses chomping up the yellow grass, rough mane, rough hair, rough feel of western Levis. Old boots with dusty creases, red fire in the wildflowers. White, white clouds along the ridge. Sun somewhere shining. Now there’s a wrinkle for you.