Willard, New Mexico on a windy windy day at dusk. I stoped to take in the baren road the sound of wind in the wires like the taos hum,
and document the enduring nature of timelessness and endurance of cow ruts, truck ruts and hiways cut into the grassy plain. This small hay barn stood steady but tells the story of frontier decay in the weathered wood and rusty nails; when humans impose themselves on this unforgivinig landscape.
Silhouetted against the western sky the great white owl flew past and into the sun, silent as he was on wing his quiet departure was symbolic of those who came before.