Another Cerrillos Hills shot, as the Sun departed the heavens, behind a small storm …
Later: Oh, and off in the distance, behind the rightmost hill, you can see Mt Taylor, one of the four sacred mountains of the Navajo people. That mountain is ~120 miles away; clear days bring amazing views.
365/2: 250. on Flickr.
Nice sharp shadows today; reality did indeed feel blurry.
365/2: 249. on Flickr.
… because everyone needs a ‘meadow break’ once in a while …
Quick snap this morning … two cloud layers at the Cerrillos Hills. one over, one at the base.
365/2: 248. Just some nice cloudage. on Flickr.
365/2: 247. on Flickr.
A pig, a flower, and late afternoon light.
365/2: 246. Rainbow! on Flickr.
Car got powerwashed as I drove home … house, the house is dry … butofcourse …
Tell me this isn’t a ‘cowboy car’ waiting to be restored.
365/2: 244. on Flickr.
Fresh apples from Albuquerque.
… with an invisible magpie feather tonight. The feather wasn’t invisible; the magpie was.
That makes three feathers in three weeks. Owl. Raven. Magpie. Looking for interpretations, it seems wise/smart/creative expression.
The owl feather’s problematic. Other than the generic ‘wise’, it mostly has dark interpretations. Since I found it first, it may mean I’m going to drop dead and be dark, brooding, smart and creative in the underworld.
Then again, they may just be feathers. I think I’ll slide them in my hatband, and see who freaks out.
365/2: 243 outtake. Pinos Fire, later on. on Flickr.
Just prior to sunset, you can see the smoke plume clearly as it spreads from source to overhead.
365/2: 243. Pinos fire. on Flickr.
The actual plume is visible in the distance over the car … such a small spot to make so much smoke.
365/2: 242. My Labor Day … on Flickr.
The old juniper is gone, gone, gone. And that was all by handsaw. I’ll never understand why folks spend $ on a chainsaw *and* a gym membership … (wink) …
365/2: 241. ‘51 Ford. on Flickr.
365/2: 240. Bark beetles killed one of my junipers. on Flickr.
Stunning, the amount of hidden damage in this one section of wood.
Sawing apart that dead juniper this afternoon, what does my head decide to play for me? The chorus to Hall & Oates “Out of Touch”. Ugh. No matter how hard I sawed, choppped, it kept popping up. “You’re out of touch. I’m out of time. But I’m out of my head when you’re not around …”
My grey matter and I need to have a serious discussion about musical taste.