Photos by Ethel Mortenson Davis





When we lived in Continental Divide, New Mexico, one of the many glories of the area where we lived at the foot of the Zuni Mountains were the great hummingbirds that were in the area from spring to fall. Sometimes in the pinion trees outside our house, hundreds of hummingbirds gathered and then dive bombed, perched, and hovered around the red feeders that Ethel filled multiple times a day. Gold, green, brown, and red flashed in the special New Mexico light as a celebration of life and living darted here and there all over our yard and into the field where horses were grazing out the back window. Sometimes Ethel would go out to water the wildflower garden she kept going until winter set in through the hottest of summer days. The hummingbirds didn’t seem to have any fear of her, but buzzed within inches of her head as they dipped in and out of the spraying water. The high desert is so dry so much of the year, and you would think that life had to have an almost impossible time surviving. Yet, the hummingbirds, beautiful and raucous, were only part of what was present in this unbelievably beautiful place with its small mountains and soaring red cliffs. Birds, elk, mountain lions, mule deer, antelope, jack rabbits, and a host of other life survived among the pinion and juniper forests that spread out over the land. Sometimes we’d even have a stellar jay landing beneath our apple trees, its dramatic crown and blue fire startling as it strutted in the small shade. This was hummingbird heaven–a place where we could sit in our living room as a fiery sunrise blazed on the eastern horizon and watched dawn glint off hummingbird wings.

Filed under Essays, Ethel Mortenson Davis, Photography, Thomas Davis
James Janko is one of the most significant authors in the United States. His newest novel, Wired, is on pre-order now. I’ve ordered it. When he wrote to me telling me that he thought Ethel was one of the most important poets in the world, he directed me to a review he’d written about her latest book of Poetry, The Woman and the Whale. I couldn’t agree with him more. I think a superb writer recognizes superb writing and is a wonderful judge of what he reads.
Filed under Essays, Ethel Mortenson Davis, poems, Poetry
By Thomas Davis, after reading a poem by Standing Feather
I saw the great bear in the forest,
noisily rambling through the brush.
Myths were flaking off black fur
and floating into the air
as eternity kept receding into the sky
just out of reach of what was floating
upward, away from the bear.
The sky darkened, daylight to dusk,
dusk to a night sky
flowing silver with the Milky Way overhead,
the song of the stars a silence
spread over the earth in glory.
Then I saw the bear in the sky,
small points of stars,
once a beautiful maiden
that angered the goddess Hera,
now a constellation shining in the heavens.
The forest danced,
trees shadows lengthened by starlight,
leaves and branches fluttered
as the night wind blew softly,
softly beneath the great bear
rambling overhead in the sky.
Filed under poems, Poetry, Thomas Davis
Filed under Art, Photography
Filed under Art, Art by Ethel Mortenson Davis, Ethel Mortenson Davis
by Ethel Mortenson Davis
Your spotted back fits well in the dappled light of the wood as you wait utterly still for the night and her returning.
Filed under Ethel Mortenson Davis, poems, Poetry
by Ethel Mortenson Davis
Because we walked to the edge of the water, a loon surprised us with two young clinging on her back— geometric black and white spots on top of a still, early morning mirror.
Filed under Ethel Mortenson Davis, poems, Poetry
by Ethel Mortenson Davis
There is a bullet train speeding through our town, our country, with the letters CRISIS written on it. We cannot put our arm out to catch it, or wrap our legs around it to hold on to it. With lightning fastness, it is melting the ice at the poles, changing the seas forever. It is ripping apart the land around it with drought, flood and wildfire, diminishing wildlife and songbirds. Like a giant spring, loaded and set to snap at our face, it will take out the whole eye of the world.
Filed under Ethel Mortenson Davis, poems, Poetry