#sonora desert

[prinnay]

Tons of sand, but where’s the ocean…?

[zakharoveblog]

Sonora desert in Arizona

[nocternalrandomness]

Stunning Sonora Sunset

[sitting-on-me-bum]

Title

Face of Earth

The desert volcano craters have their origin in a volcanic shield which is located in the Mexican part of the Sonora Desert. These volcanoes have erupted for about 4 million years with the last eruption 11 thousand years ago. Moving sand dunes are reclaiming the desert volcanos over time. Thus, a small circle of desert sand is gathering inside of the craters which creates the illusion of pupils. The volcanic origin of these craters brought different kinds of minerals to the surface which is the reason for the color variety from unstained blacks to reds and purple hues. These pictures were taken from a light aircraft at about 2km altitude.

Paul Lichte

Germany

Neutral Density Photography Awards 2023

[sepdet]

Random photos: 26 March, 2015

Sonora Desert near Scottsdale, AZ

fat saguaro all tanked up after winter rain

blooming ocotillo (red flowers)

(my family; I'm on the bay)

pair of golden eagles being unimpressed

The desert is so green in early spring

old prairie schooner (conestoga wagon)

[eopederson]

Cacti, Casa Grande National Monument, Pinal County, Arizona, 2014

[southotheborder]

Roberto Bolaño | Chilean writer (1953-2003)

Well beyond his sometimes nomadic life, Roberto Bolaño was an exemplary literary rebel. To drag fiction toward the unknown he had to go there himself, and then invent a method with which to represent it. Since the unknown place was reality, the results of his work are multi-dimensional, in a way that runs ahead of a critic’s one-at-a-time powers of description.

Highlight Bolaño’s conceptual play and you risk missing the sex and viscera in his work. Stress his ambition and his many references and you conjure up threats of exclusive high-modernist obscurity, or literature as a sterile game, when the truth is it’s hard to think of a writer who is less of a snob, or—in the double sense of exposing us to unsavory things and carrying seeds for the future—less sterile.

Bolaño had a deep skepticism about national feeling, and it has been said that his work starts to point the way to a kind of post-national fiction. But some of his insights still seem rooted in particular, not transcendent, experience.

In Bolaño’s youth, well before the arrival of Pinochet, Chile was a country of profound inequality and social conservatism, with power held in the Church and by elites aspiring to a faraway dream of refinement. To some degree, it must have been here that Bolaño’s hatred of pretension, at times of the very idea of culture, as the mask for a power fantasy, started to be forged. Yet it was a land of poets. One entry in The Romantic Dogs, the first gathering in English of Bolaño’s wonderfully unreserved poems, pays homage to Nicanor Parra, who swam against the Chilean tide with his poetry of defancified directness.

▪️ (The Triumph of Roberto Bolaño by Sarah Kerr, The New York Review, 2008)

[ljmwwm]