Wild flax is scattered along the edges of the Bosque de la Rio Santa Fe below our back meadow. This section is just before I scramble back up the bank to the meadow itself. Shady in the morning. The wild flax are pretty much always here every summer.
The sunrise is behind me. Facing West over La Cieneguilla valley to a volcanic escarpment. Actually, part of the southern boundary of the Colorado Plateau. The sun rising directly behind me is shining through the storm you see to the right only in patches one of which I just caught shining on that escarpment. The panorama is about 160º.
A lovely mood, lovely sight on my first walk of the day, today.
[Open the photo up to full screen if you can. I reduced it to 1920 pixels wide. The original is over 16000 pixels wide.]
Autumn – and autumn colors – comes to La Cieneguilla. Looking south towards the mouth of the valley along the bosque of the Santa Fe River.
Took this about 3 days ago – and we’ve already had our first day or so of snow flurries that melted away. Such a beautiful time of year here in New Mexico.
A gentle rain, this morning. One of the delights of monsoon season, sometimes, in high desert country. Sunrise shining through the rain. Felt and smelled like nothing but my Italian grandparents’ farm in New York state – or Tuscany, which never got so cold in the winter.
My notes about a morning in Bivigliano are over at my friend Om Malik’s personal blog. The link is behind the photo above, taken in his vacation, the R&R he’s still immersed in – in Tuscany.
And Monday breakfast often depends on leftovers. I ate just a tad extra of my wife’s pork stew, yesterday; so no meat in the most important meal of the day – yet. Only my second cup of coffee with a touch of cinnamon in the brew, dark roast and strong as usual.
I’d baked a couple of long slender loaves of Italian bread, last week, instead of the usual boule. A quarter whole wheat, three-quarters unbleached white flour per usual. I turned one into broccoli bread the way the maestro did it at the Grand Bakery in my old Fairhaven neighborhood. I stuffed the loaf with steamed broccoli, minced garlic lightly sauteed in e.v. olive oil, dried red chile fragments.
The two heels of that loaf remained from the weekend. So, I split them, leaving a little broccoli in each piece. Toasted them till the sharp edges of the bread were just turning brown. Rubbed the stiff crust with a clove of garlic and brushed each surface with more of my favorite Sicilian extra virgin olive oil, and just a few grains of Malden sea salt.
Sat down with my coffee and Paul Desmond on Pandora streaming. “So long, Frank Lloyd Wright”.
The rain should stop, soon. Sheila’s a true New Mexico dog and won’t come outside for a walk with me until it does.
We caught rain with just the right timing this spring to kick off the prairie feathergrass in our back meadow. Though today is beyond the time of most of the long feathers, strands of flying seeds that show the wind direction, what stands is the main grass stem. Still higher than a man’s waist.
Standing higher than Sheila on our first walk this morning.