It’s a chilly January day in Texas. These three beauties are sitting on a branch in the middle of the lake hoping for a little afternoon sun. Until that gets there, these normally sleek looking doves will sit with their feathers are puffed looking chubby.
I don’t know the name of this little lake. We were driving by, and I was taken with its smooth surface and the wonderful reflection. People have told me this image looks “too clean,” which I attribute to the clear air in clear air out here so far from the urban world.
These piercing eyes belong to a male White-Tailed Sea Eagle at the Wild Bird Sanctuary in Missouri. The eagle’s name is Cousteau, and his golden eyes tell us he is the male. His female partner, Calypso, has brown eyes.
While the bird looks very annoyed at me and as though it is ready to shut me up for intruding into its space, it is likely I am of absolutely no consequence. This majestic eagle is at least 10 feet away from me on the other side of the enclosure. I was just fortunate it was looking directly at me when I took this shot.
An egg is a lovely thing to behold. But, as the old adage goes, the beauty is in the eyes of the beholder. For you, a beautiful egg might be poached and drizzled with hollandaise sauce, topping Canadian bacon on an English muffin. For someone else, it could be as simple as a fried egg “sunny-side-up” or hard-boiled and sliced in a sandwich. For me, a beautiful egg is an omelet stuffed with cheese.
But for this photo, the egg has been left as it began, in its original form; what has been called the “perfect shape.” And to complement its simple, elegant contours, I chose a plain white bowl and a white background. To complete the theme of multiple whites, I gave the image a high key finish.
In 1823 Alexander Hodge was one of 297 settlers who bought land from Stephen F. Austin in what today is Texas. His plantation was sited along a bend in the Brazos River; today the area is still known as Hodge’s Bend. This old plantation cemetery had its last burial some 80 years ago. As a teenager Alexander fought in the Revolutionary War, and this gravestone was placed by the D.A.R. sometime in the late 20th century.
During one of my visits to this old place, I saw the two beer bottles neatly tucked in at the base of the stone. Without much effort, I could imagine a balmy spring evening with two fellows, already in their cups, deciding they really should lift “just one more” to honor Old Hodge.
Monochromia 
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