Tag Archives: sunlight


by Ethel Mortenson Davis

It is because
the earth is tilted
this time of year,
the sun brightest at sunrise,
October light exceptional,
that I can see
silver threads strung
across my path
among the oldest trees,

thousands of gleaming strings
made by tree snails or slugs —
trails of lubricant
caught by sunlight
in a mathematical moment;

glistening chains we put
around our necks
to take home with us
to put in our favorite drawer —
the one labeled “DISCOVERIES”—
there in the back of our mind.


Filed under Ethel Mortenson Davis, poems, Poetry

Winter Solstice

by Ethel Mortenson Davis

She rolled
up the mat,
turned out
the lights,
and we are plunged
into darkness.

December is like
living in a cave,
but the earth
will not hear of it,

unfolds her fetal position
in her darkened room
and allows light to emerge
longer in the morning
and afternoon—

Sunlight able
to warm our deepest bones.


Filed under Ethel Mortenson Davis, Poetry

Morning Glory in the Drought

Ethel Mortenson Davis

Morning Glory


Filed under Ethel Mortenson Davis, Photography


by Ethel Mortenson Davis

I’ve been looking
for someone
to take our hand,
but no one does.

Louise Erdrich says
that in grief you must
take your own hand.

So we must
take our own
and step between the paleness
that camps all around:
In the trees,
in the sunlight,
and in the house.

We must take
our own.

from White Ermine Across Her Shoulders, Ethel Mortenson Davis, Copyright © 2011, available at bn.com.


Filed under Ethel Mortenson Davis, Poetry

View From Overlook Mountain

a photograph by Alazanto, Kevin Davis, our son


Filed under Art, Photography

Grand Mesa Lake-Colorado

a photograph by Ethel Mortenson Davis

Grand Mesa is the largest and highest flat top mountain in the world. One of its characteristics is that it is dotted with hundreds of lakes that sparkle in the sun.


Filed under Art, Ethel Mortenson Davis, Photography

Wind Chimes, Sunlight, and Clouds

a photograph by Sophia Wood, our granddaughter


Filed under Art, Photography