Dance of an Iris
a photograph by Sonja Bingen
Iris in the Desert
a photograph by Ethel Mortenson Davis
Note: The time of Iris blooms is nearly done. In fertile southern Wisconsin the Iris dance in sunlight and the intensity of spring. In the high desert Irises, especially a profusion of Irises, is a miracle.
Filed under Art, Photography
by Ethel Mortenson Davis
Once, when the creek
had swelled its banks in spring,
and I had run to meet its new boundaries
to build a raft again
that could carry me down the Little Sandy
toward lands unknown,
I was sidetracked by a patch
of blue and yellow violets—
too many to let go unnoticed,
found among the wet and shady places—
and I forgot about the countries unseen.
And in fist-fulls I came running,
sharing them with you—
and you received them well,
arranging them in glass jars,
teaching me to love
the spring beauties and things:
The funny-faced Holstein calves
and the timid chickadees
who came in December
to snatch your winter’s crumbs.
Filed under Ethel Mortenson Davis, Poetry
A Photo Essay by Ethel Mortenson Davis
Leg Pollen Sack on a Honey Bee
Great Purple Hairstreak
Eggs of a Long-Tailed New Mexican Black Bird
Filed under Art, Essays, Ethel Mortenson Davis, Photography
by Ethel Mortenson Davis
She had missed
the elk and rabbit
this morning.
She didn’t see
the grasses parted
where a trail
was apparent,
where rabbit brush
was trampled down
from the great bodies of elk.
But they watched her
as she walked by.
She unaware,
this morning,
of their presence.
Filed under Ethel Mortenson Davis, Poetry
a pastel by Ethel Mortenson Davis
Filed under Art, Art by Ethel Mortenson Davis, Ethel Mortenson Davis
Snow came to Continental Divide yesterday and last night. Sometimes it was so thick you could not see the Zuni Mountains out the back window.
Ethel Mortenson Davis’s photograph of flowers blooming as snow fell
Up north in Wisconsin, where Sonja Bingen lives, spring is bursting with intensity.
Sonja Bingen’s photographs
Is the north becoming the south?
Filed under Art, Essays, Photography
by Ethel Mortenson Davis
The dominant horse
acted queer:
Ran around in a circle
in his pasture,
finally resting near
a black clump
on the ground.
The black clump moved
every once in awhile.
It was the black dog
that ran wild
along our fence.
He had been shot
and had gotten
as far as the horses,
trying to get home.
What happened next
took my breath away.
The horse stayed
near the dog,
nuzzling with it’s soft lips,
going over and over it’s body
for a long period of time
until there was no movement.
Filed under Ethel Mortenson Davis, Poetry
by Ethel Mortenson Davis
The Tree
Everything depends
on the apricot tree in bloom
across my neighbors fence—
A tree of butterflies!
Desert
The cornflowers are gaining
and soon will be in bloom.
Where are the rain-showers
of spring?
Iris
Cold nights
catch us off guard.
Will the iris
lose its life again?
Progress
Progress
is the budding branch,
the Painted Ladies
warming their wings
on my garden wall.
Filed under Ethel Mortenson Davis, Poetry
a pastel by Ethel Mortenson Davis
Filed under Art, Art by Ethel Mortenson Davis, Ethel Mortenson Davis
fourwindowspress 