a photograph by Ethel Mortenson Davis

a photograph by Ethel Mortenson Davis

Filed under Art, Ethel Mortenson Davis, Photography
a photograph by Ethel Mortenson Davis

Filed under Art, Ethel Mortenson Davis, Photography
a children’s poem by Thomas Davis
The catfish river starts,
Snorts with a small ripple of foam,
And then goes to sleep again.
The afternoon is covered with sky,
The blue cloth creeping into cradles of stone
And covering dark shallows.
The catfish river rolls over,
Swells with an oily, gray, collapsing wave,
And then goes to sleep again.
Filed under Poetry, Thomas Davis
Filed under Art, Ethel Mortenson Davis, Photography
Filed under Art, Ethel Mortenson Davis, Photography
Filed under Art, Photography
Filed under Art, Photography
by Ethel Mortenson Davis
I shouldn’t have
come up over the bluff,
because that’s when
I saw the great expanse
of sky and clouds.
This morning, on my walk,
the face of the red mesa
looked cold,
and then
these extraordinary
fall clouds
beckoned me
to come up into them–
yes, taken up into
the sky.
But in a moment
my eye caught sight
of a coyote
padding along
the valley floor
almost the color
of the dirt and brush
around him,
bringing me back
to reality and hardness.
Stay hidden, coyote,
and step away
from man–
because where he steps
death is all around.
Filed under Ethel Mortenson Davis, Poetry
Filed under Ethel Mortenson Davis, Photography