Himalayan night sky (by J W CRUX)
Henry Mountains Majesty
Bullfrog, Utah
The gray peaks of the Henry Mountains make for an impressive backdrop to the colorful desert landscape in Glen Canyon National Recreation Area in southwest Utah.
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Still and calm,
In purple robes of kings,
The low-lying mountains sleep at the edge of the world.
The forests cover them like mantles;
Day and night
Rise and fall over them like the wash of waves.Asleep, they reign.
Silent, they say all.
Hush me, O slumbering mountains -
Send me dreams.
“The Blue Ridge”, Harriet Monroe
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Irrigation system for the separate parcels of land by Claudia
Via Flickr:
It works - since thousands of years
Thirteen Ways of Looking at a Blackbird
by Wallace Stevens
I
Among twenty snowy mountains,
The only moving thing
Was the eye of the blackbird.
II
I was of three minds,
Like a tree
In which there are three blackbirds.
III
The blackbird whirled in the autumn winds.
It was a small part of the pantomime.
IV
A man and a woman
Are one.
A man and a woman and a blackbird
Are one.
V
I do not know which to prefer,
The beauty of inflections
Or the beauty of innuendoes,
The blackbird whistling
Or just after.
VI
Icicles filled the long window
With barbaric glass.
The shadow of the blackbird
Crossed it, to and fro.
The mood
Traced in the shadow
An indecipherable cause.
VII
O thin men of Haddam,
Why do you imagine golden birds?
Do you not see how the blackbird
Walks around the feet
Of the women about you?
VIII
I know noble accents
And lucid, inescapable rhythms;
But I know, too,
That the blackbird is involved
In what I know.
IX
When the blackbird flew out of sight,
It marked the edge
Of one of many circles.
X
At the sight of blackbirds
Flying in a green light,
Even the bawds of euphony
Would cry out sharply.
XI
He rode over Connecticut
In a glass coach.
Once, a fear pierced him,
In that he mistook
The shadow of his equipage
For blackbirds.
XII
The river is moving.
The blackbird must be flying.
XIII
It was evening all afternoon.
It was snowing
And it was going to snow.
The blackbird sat
In the cedar-limbs.
1.5ºC in the forest and snow in the mountains. Today it’s wet and foggy outside but this atmosphere was really worth getting soaked.
Thistle Do Just Fine
Southwest Colorado
Lush meadow thick with blooming thistle on the Bear Creek Trail in the San Juan Mountains of southwest Colorado.
“The mountains of the Great Divide are not, as everyone knows, born treeless, through we always think of them as above timberline with the eternal snows on their heads. They wade up through ancient forests and lunge into canyons tangled up with watercourses and pause in little gem-like valleys and march attended by loud winds across high plateaus, but all such incidents of the lower world they leave behind them when they begin to strip for the skies: like the Holy Ones of old, they go up alone and barren of all circumstance to meet their transfiguration.”
— Wallace Stegner, Angle of Repose
Faeries, come take me out of this dull world,
For I would ride with you upon the wind,
Run on the top of the dishevelled tide,
And dance upon the mountains like a flame.
William Butler Yeats, The Land of Heart’s Desire
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