I randomly discovered this moment of illumination in my outhouse. Mommy Dove has been sitting on the nest for a long time. I check on her to watch the development of the baby birds. I don’t open the door at the risk of frightening her, but I can look through the wood slots. Recently I noticed she left the nest alone, and I could open the door to photograph the nest and its contents. I counted five eggs and was surprised at how big the eggs were. The slice of light highlighting the discovery was perfect. Photographic opportunities like this are what I so love much about photography: when the Gods open their hands and say, “it’s all yours, what are you going to do with it?” This is a portrait of life. Living in nature has brought me closer to the natural world. It’s hard to identify with nature, climate, and wildlife when everything around you is cement, steel, and glass. When light is manufactured, the temperature is controlled, and the sound of your world are horns, chatter, music, and sirens. When I first moved here, I had a hard time sitting still. I could walk in the park, minutes from my house, but never just sit. I’ve been here 13 years now, and every year reveals something I hadn’t expected. 2020 and the Covid shut down was not uncomfortable for me because I live alone on five acres. I wasn’t worried about getting the virus. Every day I fed the rabbits and birds and developed a closer relationship with them. I watched how they behaved during mating season and when they were pregnant. I got to experience the process as I would family members, and each new generation filled my space with joy. That year was not without its misfortune. Early in 2020, I had almost 20 cottontails living on my property. One of them got to know me early in life and came to me for food. I named he/she Pippin, and twice each day, I was there to commune with my little friend. But as people began getting sick with Covid, the rabbits developed Rabbit hemorrhagic disease and dropped away one by one. This affected other animals too. The Cotten tail population has still not rebounded to what it was. Before the 18th century, rabbits were called coneys, and young coneys were rabbits. Pippin was so distinct it was easy to notice him/her from the crowd. I’m going to call it him because that is what I thought at the time. Later I changed my mind and thought she might be pregnant. Pippin would wait by my steps and stand on his back legs when he saw me. He would often get very close and reach out and grab my hand. I would lead him to an area under a large Creosote, healthy with gray water, and would put down piles of rabbit food and bird food. He liked both. Pippen disappeared during the summer of 2020, along with much of the cottontail population. I’ve recently noticed a couple of baby cottontails (called Kittens). I do not see the older, larger ones, but so glad to see them around. Mommy Coyote has been living under a Creosote grove and regularly drinks out of my fountain. I saw two of her pups. Having her on the property may be another reason the rabbit population is so low. She chased a squirrel as I watched. It was fascinating even if I was cheering for the squirrel who managed to duck under my deck just before the snapping jaws came down on its tail. With lots of windows, I get to be an active observer. The camera does the same thing for me. I was timid as a child, and although I had to change that as I got older, it’s still in me. Life is illuminated here in the desert and very different than city life. Maybe not better or worse, but stripped down and authentic. And the light illuminates everything, perhaps more than we would like to see, and yet, everything we need to see.