And then the rains came...

Driving north on I-25. Photographed through the windshield. Click to enlarger.

We've been so parched here in the southwest. Not much moisture since January. A lot of fires as a result. But today, a crackin' thunderstorm with steady rain for several hours visited us. Bliss. I can hear the creatures, the plants, and the trees celebrating.

The reason I've been so absent from this blog is because Parlez and I have had to move several times in the last few months. We finally moved out of the house on Old Dog Run (seriously, that IS the name) after five years. And we finally figured out (thanks to sweetie still being there) in the early spring, a couple of months after I had to leave, the cause of my severe health issues escalating into a near-fatal reaction back in December, was because of MOLD.

I am not one to go into a lot of detail about things like this in my life, but several people have told me I should write something about it. After I get settled I will, only because I feel it could help so many people. It's odd when folks who are not from New Mexico say, "Mold? You have mold there? But it's so dry." Honestly, mold will grow anywhere there is cellulose and moisture in an enclosed, dark and unventilated area. So even if you live in the Gobi Desert, you can have mold.

So many blessings have come out of this experience, not the least of which is a deeper understanding of aspects of myself, and a very clean diet. (Not like I was a junk foodie before :). I look forward to sharing some things in the future that may be of help, and even inspiring.

Wishing you many moments of wonder this summer, and beyond.
Love from Elsa and Parlez

Aspen buds hold tight for spring...

Magic happens... I was so intently focused on getting the buds in focus I didn't see what was going on with these magnificent icicles... Perhaps I couldn't have seen it until the shutter was actually clicked. Regardless, my lovely and talented painter neighbor saw the photo and wondered how I got those colors. But I didn't, I said. They were just there!

Recently I came across this quote from the late photographer Minor White. It is timeless, and I feel describes beautifully the moment above (at 1/500th of a second), and indeed encapsulates so many of my photographic experiences.

No matter how slow the film,

Spirit always stands still long enough for the photographer It has chosen.

—Minor White

Blue Skies

Walk the middle road and you will see

there will always be blue sky behind the clouds

A walk today after a big wet snow.

Listening to Mozart's Clarinet concerto I looked up and saw

a young Red Tailed hawk looking for lunch.

He moved perfectly to the music, slowing above me, hovering on a note;

as if the Adagio was made just for him.

Such majesty.

Happy New Year, New Moment, Blue Moon

If you will stay close to nature, to its simplicity, to the small things hardly

noticeable, these things can unexpectedly become great and immeasurable.

If you will love what seems to be insignificant and will in an unassuming manner,

as a servant, seek to win the confidence of what seems poor, then everything

will become easier, more harmonious, and somehow more conciliatory,

not for your intellect—that will most likely remain behind, astonished—

but for your innermost consciousness, your awakeness,

and your inner knowing." —Rainer Maria Rilke

Full Moon in Blue, Santa Fe, New Mexico. ©Elsa Kendall

Once in a blue moon is here, December 31st 2009. What makes it so special is that it comes not only on New Year's Eve, but is ushering in a brand new decade. To learn more about this phenomenon you can check this link.

Inspired by a meeting I recently had, I've been revisiting a book I've not looked at in a while, the poet Rilke's "Letters to a Young Poet". It is a treasure indeed. There are so many parts worth quoting, but this seems appropriate for now.

How could we be capable of forgetting the old myths

that stand at the threshold of all mankind,

myths of dragons transforming themselves at the last moment into princesses?

Perhaps all dragons in our lives are really princesses just waiting

to see us just once being beautiful and courageous.

Happy New Decade

New Year

New Moment

A limited edition of this print is now available. For information please click here.

. . .endurance requires real internal work,

a daily flexing of spiritual muscle that is grist for the mill of the Gods,

grinding slowly and growing our beauty.

—Judith Gayle

America's Best Idea

"I only went out for a walk, and finally concluded to stay out till sundown,

for going out I found, was really going in" —John Muir

A new film by Ken Burns premiers this Sunday on PBS. It's called "The National Parks: America's Best Idea", and is an epic, six-part feature that took five years to film. Excerpts have been shown on PBS and the cinematography looks outstanding. For a look behind the scenes click here. It is so beautifully done, as usual with his work. He just keeps getting better and better. It runs in two hour segments, Sunday through Friday. Enjoy~

Hunting the Hidden Dimension

I was looking through ASMP's website and found this photographer's work. And then this amazing image. I shamelessly copied it to my desktop to look at again and again. And then I decided to share it with you, giving him full credit.

You can view it larger here by clicking on it. If you would like to see more of his work, please click here.

This image seemed to illustrate to me the kind of brink on which we all currently stand; in the midst of a vast unknown, full of peril, full of possibility. It looks like White Sands, NM, a bizarre configuration of gypsum sand in the middle of a desert basin. I was there in December once and remember the distinct feeling of strange as I took off my shoes and wiggled my toes in cool, white sand without the sound of ocean waves.

Things are not always as they seem, and that is a blessing to understand. Our minds are so limited, and such tricksters! Speaking of which, I was enthralled to watch Nova on PBS this last week, from which the title of this post comes. It was on fractal geometry and you can watch the whole thing here. I loved seeing how many dried and true mathematicians poo pooed the work of Benoit Mandlebrot several years ago, and literally told him he was nuts. Einstein was right, "Great spirits have always encountered violent opposition from mediocre minds". Mandlebrot wrote The Fractal Geometry of Nature, and I look forward to checking that out. Here's an image from it from Wikipedia (where else?)

I am vastly under-qualified to explain it so best to check it out for yourself but essentially "A fractal is generally "a rough or fragmented geometric shape that can be split into parts, each of which is (at least approximately) a reduced-size copy of the whole." Suffice to say: it is cool!

In the program a physicist by the name of Nathan Cohen was interviewed. He was a Hammer (a Ham radio enthusiast) and a professor at Boston University in 1988. His landlord forbid him to put up an antennae on the outside of the building. By chance, Cohen went to a lecture by Mandlebrot and became intrigued by this work. Long story shorter, he went home and pondered the problem of the forbidden antennae and decided to try something out on his own. Instead of taking a line of wire, he took that same line and bent it to look something like this:

It worked. It worked better than a traditional antennae. It worked so well he continued to explore it, and in the mid 1990s obtained a patent. His work has contributed to the evolution of cell phones. You can read more here.

What has an image of a person doing the yoga tree pose in the middle of a 'beach' in the middle of a desert, have to do with fractal geometry and a man who was told no, and took the no and moulded it into something exceptional? I cannot explain why to you in words, I just know it does. I also know that when we are confronted with no's and cannot do's, with apparent limitations in our perceived physical realities, that inherent in this is a great, big, fat uncollected blessing. It is unknown, and it may seem perilous. But it is full of possibility.

They Fledged On the Full Moon

This was taken a few days before, with mama delivering a nice bug

to one of her three chicks.The full story coming soon!

I've Never Really Been a Landscape Photographer...

Last year, learning a new Nikon DSLR, I began to photograph my environment. Not just the usual, but the landscape. I'd always felt completely defeated attempting to capture landscapes, especially here. I am not a landscape photographer, a mantra I repeated often. 

Then I just decided to let myself off the hook, and instead of saying what I wasn't, began to shoot. Of course the clouds we have here during certain times a year really help. :)  And then there's the light ...

The adobe and umbrellas was shot on Museum Hill, during the Folk Art Market last July. I was eating lunch in the alfresco food court, looked up through my enchiladas, and spied this.

For those of you who have arrived here via the Santa Fe Workshops catalog, welcome. There will soon be a link to my newly-designed website, where you can catch a glimpse of some of the books I've worked on, as well as some of my own personal photo projects that have morphed into books——sojourns sandwiched in pages. 

You can view my Obamanos work here, which is turning into a sojournal book for Blurb.com. 

If you would like to receive updates to Bird's Eye View, please go to the sidebar and subscribe via RSS reader or email.

In My Own Backyard...

Real photographers must be able to make compelling pictures in their own backyard.  —Annie Griffiths Belt

Alfred: A Gift from Parlez

One morning I was standing at the picture window sipping tea and looking at the powdered snow. Up the path padded Parlez, something rather large and bird-like hanging sideways from his mouth. My eyes blurry, I thought it was a Flicker. "No Parlez", I said, running out the door in my PJs. He made a dash for his hideaway, under the porch. No way I was getting under there. I left him to it.

Then dressed, I crawled around and with a large stick gently pulled this young hawk out. He was perfect. And that's when I thought he may have succumbed to the same fate Athena had. Parlez didn't seem to be interested in eating him, fortunately. Alfred was barely breathing when he had found him; I had strained to look under the deck and see it on its back, legs twitching one last time. 

There's something sacred about a recently transitioned bird placed on the silent snow. Especially one of such beauty as this one. I marveled at his long, taloned feet, perfect for swooping down to snatch whatever his yellow hawk eyes spied. Marveled at his perfectly pointed beak, his own portable cutlery. And at his young tawny-spotted chest, the soft feathers downy underneath, his magnificent tail feathers. And the soaring wings, now stowed. 

Parlez went to play with his catch. "No Parlez. Let him rest in peace".

He looked at me as if to say, "But I found him, mama".

He looked again at the bird. . . 

OK, mama. I'll let him rest.

Male Northern Flicker Stays Toasty

Male (with red "moustache") Great Northern Red Flicker

I was passing by the north side of the house and caught sight of this little guy through the screened window. It is so rare for me to see them "sitting", but this young male (it seems to me he is) Red Flicker was just hanging out endeavoring to stay warm. He was all puffed up and stopping for a bit before he began to tip some snow flakes into his beak for a drink. 

Earlier in the day I was watching the snow in the little woods behind the house and saw several Flickers flying from pinon to pinon. Such majesty. I just love these birds. As you can see from the video here...

I can see why wildlife photographers love those 300 mm lenses (I was at 200 mm shooting at 800 ISO). And not shooting through dirty windows with screens :-) But I just loved that I got to watch him for so long. More shots of him digging in the snow soon.

Micaceous at the Craft Fair

Last Saturday I participated in Jeanne's annual holiday craft fair, along with several women of many talents. It was great for me to get my hands back in the clay (micaceous) and while I didn't make any new pots I made hearts and necklaces. You can catch a glimpse of the booth above.

Here's a detail from one of the necklaces. The heart is suspended by copper, strung with glass and copper beads, micaceous beads, and copper Irish love knots. 

I'm in the process of photographing what I have, making more and uploading the goodies to my Etsy gallery, which is now called Golden Bee.  I will also have crochet scarves, fabulous fleece hats, head bands, and neck hoodies. Stay tuned for the link. I will post it soon!

Gift from the Flowers

What you are seeing here is nectar from thousands and thousands of flowers, collected from hundreds of bees then miraculously turned into honey and stored in perfect wax canisters called honeycomb. Amazing. 

From my friend Tom's hive during a honey harvest in August.

Lesser Goldfinches Hold Their Own with the Siskins

Season of Mists and Mellow Fruitfulness

Season of mists and mello fruitfulness,

Close bosom-friend of the maturing sun;

Conspiring with him how to load and bless

With fruit the vines that round the thatch-eaves run;

To bend with apples the moss'd cottage-trees;

And fill all fruit with ripeness to the core;

To swell the gourd, and plump the hazel shells

With a sweet kernel; to set budding more,

And still more, later flowers for the bees,

Until they think warm days will never cease,

For Summer has o'er-brimm'd their clammy cells.

Who hath not seen thee oft amid thy store?

Sometimes whoever seeks abroad may find

Thee sitting careless on a granary floor,

Thy hair soft-lifted by the winnowing wind;

Or on a half-reap'd furrow sound asleep,

Drowsed with the fume of poppies, while thy hook

Spares the next swath and all its twined flowers:

And sometimes like a gleaner thou dost keep

Steady thy laden head across a brook;

Or by a cider-press, with patient look,

Thou watchest the last oozings, hours by hours. 

—John Keats, Ode to Autumn

These are the first two verses from one of my favorite poems. I learned it in school as a young teenager in England; sounded to my ears for the first time by Mr. Evans, my baritone English teacher who happened to be Welsh. There are not too many I remember but Keats was one of my favorites. He lived for a brief time in the literature paradise of Hampstead Heath which is not too far from the county in which I grew up, Hertfordshire. Last summer I visited Keats's house on the heath. He was of very modest means and rented it for a time before his tuberculosis became so acute he moved to Rome for the warmer, dryer climate. A few years ago I had seen the home he occupied there, above the Spanish steps of the Piazza di Spagna, which contained one of the tiniest and most lovely shops I'd ever seen, selling just gloves. Luscious.

I found this poem in an old letterpress dual-volume I bought here in Santa Fe. Inside the front cover lays a book label with a crest which reads in Spanish, Honor is my guide. The name on the crest is Frederic Perry Lousada of Her Majesty's 84th Regiment, which seemed to have been formed from the Royal Highland Immigrants' regiment during the war between the British and the Colonials in 1775; and was known as the 84 Regiment on Foot. Through additional searching I see Lousada may have lived circa 1858, not forty years after John Keats' passing. This book was published in 1904, so perhaps he enjoyed it as a retired gentleman soldier. How the books came to be in Santa Fe remains a mystery.

Time to collect the seeds and put away the hammock~

Autumn Sunday Afternoon With Parlez

Ah, nothing like a nice reposé on Sunday afternoon.

Warm sun, golden aspen leaves and the perfect place for bird watching.

But what's this? Mama with that box again. I think I'll just sit here looking alert but nonchalant.

We cats can only do that for so long. Time to stretch and see what's happening elsewhere.

Adios amigos. Until the next time. . . 

Popping Forth Those Pinon Seeds

We have had a bumper crop of pinon seeds this year. The big pinon jays have been gorging themselves, and no doubt hiding a few as well. A friend shared with me their beaks are the perfect length for planting. They will bury a seed near a mature pinon tree, in its shade, at exactly the perfect depth. It will grow as the sheltering tree ages, and when it's time the seedling will have matured to take its place. Now isn't that a marvel?

For me, these seeds are the most beautiful nuggets of burnished copper brown that I wish I could string on a necklace. I've been collecting them to make a collage. Sweetie often passes the bowl wistfully, "Are you sure I can't just eat these?"  No, not yet. :-)

Close Up

This morning I came in to my work room and thought about turning on the computer. Parlez was lounging in a sun beam on top of my folders, notes and papers. I greeted him and he looked over at me squinting and said, "Mama, you're not going to work today are you? It's so beautiful today and autumn is at its height. You really should be outside." I grabbed the camera and he stuck his nose into the lens, trying to see if there was anything appetizing. Nope. No mouse. No kangaroo rat (a gift last night). No mountain beaver. And the lizards are gone for the year. Well, I guess I'm going to quit this taco stand and see what's going on outside. And with that he jumped down and scooted out of his kitty door. If you click on this photo you will see a very persuasive cat telling you to go outside and have some fun. Go on. Try it. :~)

Gift from a Squirrel

Last winter I was feeding the birds a mix of yummy seeds, mostly sunflower. I didn't see many squirrels because Parlez was on the scene, newly arrived, and keeping guard. Several months later I was out on the rebounder trampoline and I noticed a couple of sunflowers energetically sprouting out of a neglected pot. I wondered how they got there, as I hadn't planted them. And then I realized a squirrel must have stashed them for the winter where they had lain dormant and unclaimed until now.

Later in the summer as they grew and bloomed, one attracting the most amazing fluorescent green fly, I studied it and the pattern of the zillions of yellow petals. Remembering the Italian for sunflower, girasole—literally meaning to circle or follow the sun—I was transported back to dozing on a train through Tuscany and awakening at the precise moment we were running along fields and fields of sunflowers in full bloom. It was so beautiful, all that yellow warming the countryside. Now, out of my reverie, I marveled at how one seed planted by a squirrel could turn into such a beautiful flower. And that one flower could create so many more seeds to make many, many more flowers. I think of this now at harvest time, the gift of seeds.

Summer passed and I saw this one above, spent, getting ready to shed its seeds for another batch of beauties the following year. That same day I went for a walk in the arroyo. It was the chamisa's turn for center stage, the sunflowers had all gone. Or so I thought. Walking in the fall sunshine I was contemplating the quality of grace. Startled I heard what sounded like a pack of barking dogs. I looked in their direction and saw none, but instead one stellar, golden sunflower perched all alone on the edge of the arroyo. Sitting about two feet tall it looked down over to me, smiling and waving. Grace.