Greetings from San Cristobal, NM. This week a bunch of snow geese and a couple of turkeys shot in the Bosque del Apache around this time of year almost twenty years ago.
Greetings from San Cristobal, NM. This week, some scenes of winter weather, two new book covers, and snow. It’s been a cold week, but it’s warming up again. The heaters are cleaned and running, and the sun is shining. I hope it’s beautiful where you are.
Winter weather, Ranchos Valley.
Last week we took a drive during the snowfall here. Little did we know that the 12 to 15 inches we received in San Cristobal amounted to about an inch in downtown Taos as you can see from the image of the little chapel on La Loma Plaza in Taos. We have been fortunate to get hit by lots of moisture this year in our village north of Taos.
Snow, La Loma Plaza Chapel Taos.
St Clare’s statue was huddled under a cloak of snow before it slid off.
Saint Clare’s statue at the Saint Francis church, Ranchos de Taos.
Sunflower seed pods wearing snow cap crowns.
Sunflower seed pods.
The following are two of my images used on the covers of recently published books. I’m honored to share these publications with you.
Ranchitos Road, Taos, mirror image.
Lise Goett’s book of poetry, “The Radiant”
Lise Goett’s book cover “The Radiant”
The second cover is from J.M. Mitchell’s Novel “Migrations of Butterflies and Lies”, Check it out here on Amazon
J.M. Mitchell’s Novel “Migrations of Butterflies and Lies”
And the cover…
Book Cover.
You can also purchase a copy of J.M. Mitchell’s book “Migrations of Butterflies and Lies.” at Barnes and Noble.
If you are writing a book and would like to use an image of mine on the cover or inside, please get in touch. All proceeds go to a local Taos non-profit for kids.
And finally an autumn leaf on a winter pond.
Leaf floating on a pond.
As always, thanks for looking. Have a great week. G
Greetings from San Cristobal, NM. This week Pond Ripples, a photo I shot in a mountain lake almost twenty years ago, and a poem by W.B. Yeats.
Click on the image to enlarge.
Pond ripples in a mountain lake.
The Second Coming
Turning and turning in the widening gyre The falcon cannot hear the falconer; Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold; Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world, The blood-dimmed tide is loosed, and everywhere The ceremony of innocence is drowned; The best lack all conviction, while the worst Are full of passionate intensity.
Surely some revelation is at hand; Surely the Second Coming is at hand. The Second Coming! Hardly are those words out When a vast image out of Spiritus Mundi Troubles my sight: somewhere in sands of the desert A shape with lion body and the head of a man, A gaze blank and pitiless as the sun, Is moving its slow thighs, while all about it Reel shadows of the indignant desert birds. The darkness drops again; but now I know That twenty centuries of stony sleep Were vexed to nightmare by a rocking cradle, And what rough beast, its hour come round at last, Slouches towards Bethlehem to be born?
