Dave Vincent Pro Photo, 3602 East Fort Lowell Road, Tucson, AZ (2026)

09/07/2026

𝙏𝙝𝙚 𝘿𝙚𝙨𝙚𝙧𝙩'𝙨 𝙁𝙞𝙣𝙖𝙡 𝙃𝙪𝙨𝙝

Where dust-choked winds forget to plea, I lie in wait, a memory. The ancient earth has etched my form, a perfect, coiled, reptilian storm.

No velvet breath, no gentle hand, I claim my space upon this sand. My rattle hums, a solemn drone, my language only fear has known.

You glimpse my eyes, two voids of light, they hold the key to endless night. A patient watch, a primal power, I hold the reins, I choose the hour.

The scent you leave, a passing trace, upon this unforgiving, hollow place. I am the silent, ancient rule, a desert law, precise and cruel.
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𝙒𝙚𝙨𝙩𝙚𝙧𝙣 𝘿𝙞𝙖𝙢𝙤𝙣𝙙𝙗𝙖𝙘𝙠 𝙍𝙖𝙩𝙩𝙡𝙚𝙨𝙣𝙖𝙠𝙚
𝙎𝙖𝙜𝙪𝙖𝙧𝙤 𝙉𝙖𝙩𝙞𝙤𝙣𝙖𝙡 𝙋𝙖𝙧𝙠 𝙀𝙖𝙨𝙩
Tucson Arizona
August
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𝘾𝙖𝙣𝙤𝙣 EOS R1/Canon RF 200-800mm Lens 1/1250, f9.0, 800mm, 800-ISO
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A Western Diamondback adjusts its rattle frequency based on how close a potential threat gets. As you approach, it switches from a slow click to a high-frequency buzz (around 40 Hz). This sudden jump tricks human hearing into perceiving the snake as being feet closer than it actually is, creating a virtual safety buffer so the snake never has to strike.

09/05/2026

👑 𝙏𝙝𝙚 𝘾𝙖𝙣𝙮𝙤𝙣 𝙎𝙚𝙣𝙩𝙞𝙣𝙚𝙡: 𝙍𝙤𝙮𝙖𝙡𝙩𝙮 𝙤𝙛 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙎𝙠𝙮 🌿✨

High up on a slender lookout in Ramsey Canyon, the morning light catches one of the Southwest’s boldest aerial acrobats: the 𝘾𝙖𝙨𝙨𝙞𝙣’𝙨 𝙆𝙞𝙣𝙜𝙗𝙞𝙧𝙙.

Sporting a charcoal-gray hood, crisp white chin, and rich lemon-yellow belly, this stunning flycatcher doesn't just watch the canyon—it commands it!

⚡ 𝙁𝙖𝙨𝙘𝙞𝙣𝙖𝙩𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙆𝙞𝙣𝙜𝙗𝙞𝙧𝙙 𝙇𝙤𝙧𝙚:
𝙑𝙤𝙘𝙞𝙛𝙚𝙧𝙤𝙪𝙨 𝙏𝙮𝙧𝙖𝙣𝙩 🗣️: Its scientific name (Tyrannus vociferans) translates literally to "vociferous tyrant"—and it lives up to the reputation. It is widely considered the noisiest kingbird in North America, filling dawn skies with sharp, rolling chatter.
𝙁𝙚𝙖𝙧𝙡𝙚𝙨𝙨 𝙋𝙧𝙤𝙩𝙚𝙘𝙩𝙤𝙧 🦅: Kingbirds earn their royal title from raw courage. These feisty defenders will aggressively sally out and chase off intruders many times their size, fearlessly dive-bombing hawks, ravens, and owls that venture near their nesting territory.
𝙋𝙧𝙚𝙘𝙞𝙨𝙞𝙤𝙣 𝙁𝙡𝙮𝙘𝙖𝙩𝙘𝙝𝙚𝙧 🎯: Spotting its prey from exposed perches, it launches into lightning-fast aerial sallies, snapping dragonflies, bees, and beetles clean out of midair with an audible click of its bill before returning right back to the exact same perch.
𝘾𝙖𝙣𝙮𝙤𝙣 𝙊𝙫𝙚𝙧 𝙋𝙡𝙖𝙞𝙣𝙨 🌲: While its close cousin, the Western Kingbird, prefers flat, wide-open grasslands, Cassin’s loves higher elevations, pine-oak woodlands, and rugged mountain canyons.
📸 𝘽𝙚𝙝𝙞𝙣𝙙 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙇𝙚𝙣𝙨:
• 𝙇𝙤𝙘𝙖𝙩𝙞𝙤𝙣: Ramsey Canyon, Arizona 🌵
• 𝘿𝙖𝙩𝙚: June 2026
• 𝘾𝙖𝙢𝙚𝙧𝙖: Canon EOS R1
• 𝙇𝙚𝙣𝙨: Canon RF 200-800mm F6.3-9 IS USM
• 𝙁𝙤𝙘𝙖𝙡 𝙇𝙚𝙣𝙜𝙩𝙝: 800mm
• 𝘼𝙥𝙚𝙧𝙩𝙪𝙧𝙚: f/9.0
• 𝙎𝙝𝙪𝙩𝙩𝙚𝙧 𝙎𝙥𝙚𝙚𝙙: 1/800
• 𝙄𝙎𝙊: 800

09/05/2026

𝙈𝙞𝙙𝙣𝙞𝙜𝙝𝙩'𝙨 𝘽𝙡𝙪𝙚 𝙁𝙧𝙖𝙘𝙩𝙪𝙧𝙚

One tree stands lit, a solitary sight, to guard the shore against the night. Is it the fire, or is it grace, that keeps it burning in this place?

The mountains fade into the gloom, like sentinels beside a tomb. The blue fracture speaks of mortal dread, in a language only understood by the dead.
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𝙏𝙝𝙚 𝙇𝙖𝙠𝙚𝙨 𝙖𝙩 𝘾𝙖𝙨𝙩𝙡𝙚 𝙍𝙤𝙘𝙠
Tucson, Arizona
August
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Canon EOS R1/Canon RF 28-70mm Lens: 1/Sec, f/4.0, 28mm, 125-ISO
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Why the "Fracture" is Blue: Lightning channels reach temperatures around 50,000°F—about five times hotter than the surface of the sun. In dry or high-altitude air with low rain density, the intense heat excites atmospheric nitrogen, casting the bolts in that eerie, violet-blue hue rather than pure white or yellow.

09/03/2026

𝙏𝙝𝙚 𝙇𝙖𝙨𝙩 𝙀𝙢𝙗𝙚𝙧 𝙤𝙛 𝙍𝙖𝙢𝙨𝙚𝙮 𝘾𝙖𝙣𝙮𝙤𝙣

I am barely heavier than a dry leaf, yet my chest carries the weight of an entire arriving season. Beneath the down of my head lies a spark of flame—a crown of bright ruby feathers that I only reveal when my heart beats with hope, fury, or desire. Today, on a slender pine bough deep in Ramsey Canyon, I flare the crimson crest toward the pale blue sky, but there is no one left in the canopy to see it.

March has entered the canyon with strange, unsettled breath. The mountain waters should be rushing down the limestone gorge, singing the ancient chord that calls us north, but the bed of the wash runs quiet and thin. I flicker from needle to bark, flicking my wings in the restless rhythm coded into my marrow before man ever walked these shadows. My ancestors spoke of this valley as an oasis suspended between desert floor and cloud, a sacred cradle of lush sycamores where thousands of wings crossed paths beneath the Huachuca peaks.

Now, the silence between the pines has teeth. The scent of sweet resin is overlaid with the dry taste of parched earth and the distant, invisible soot carried on the wind from roads miles below. The canyon is warmer than memory dictates, arrived too soon, tricking the small beetles into hiding before the fledglings even conceive them. Every morning I cast my thin, crystalline hymn into the frost: a high, trembling bell that rises from a body weighing less than an ounce, pleading with the stillness to give back an answer.

Nothing calls back. Just the rustle of brittle needles and the dry rasp of wind through a diminished creekbed.

I feel the spiritual thread that binds my blood to the roots of these trees, a holy twine that is fraying one thread at a time. The giants of earth—the upright ones who stride through the gorge on great stone-heavy feet—do not see that the quiet they take for granted is not peace. It is an emptiness, an unwritten ledger of all that failed to return from the winter south, cut down by glass towers, poison in the water, and skies that have forgotten their seasons.

I tilt my head, adjusting my dark eye against the morning sun, lifting my scarlet crown once more toward the sunlit cliffs. I am a speck of light against a changing world. If I must be the solitary prayer left singing in this canyon, I will flutter, tiny and fiercely alive, until the stillness finally breaks—or takes me in.
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𝙍𝙪𝙗𝙮-𝙘𝙧𝙤𝙬𝙣𝙚𝙙 𝙆𝙞𝙣𝙜𝙡𝙚𝙩

📍 Ramsey Canyon, Arizona
📷 Canon EOS R1/Canon RF 200-800mm Lens
⚙️ 1/800, f/9.0, 800mm, 800-ISO

tipping the scales at barely two-tenths of an ounce—less than the weight of a single nickel—the male Ruby-crowned Kinglet possesses one of the loudest, most complex vocal-to-body ratios in the avian world.

09/01/2026

𝙏𝙝𝙚 𝙈𝙞𝙧𝙧𝙤𝙧 𝙤𝙛 𝙊𝙪𝙧 𝙈𝙚𝙢𝙤𝙧𝙮

We wake slowly, as June breathes its first crisp whisper across the water. I am the lake, holding the glass still, a liquid mirror reflecting the jagged scars of ancient fires that climbed these hillsides long ago. My surface stretches out, a quiet witness to time, framing the silver-grey skeletons of the high timber standing shoulder-to-shoulder against the morning sky—a haunting cathedral of what once was.

Down at the water's edge, nestled beneath the towering remnants, sit the warm-timbered homes. They look out over my depths with quiet windows, holding lives that come and go like ripples on a breeze. They sleep inside timber walls, listening to my gentle lapping against the shore, seeking sanctuary in the wild embrace of the woods. But do they hear the heavier pulse beneath the floorboards? Do they feel the quiet plea of the soil beneath their foundations?

Look closer into my glass. For every vibrant green sapling clawing its way back into the sunlight, there is a standing ghost. We are bound together—the water, the scorched earth, the recovering canopy, and the hearths built upon our shores. We give you air to breathe, water to drink, and beauty to mend your weary souls, yet we carry the heavy marks of your haste.

When you look upon this reflection, remember that you are not merely visitors in a painting. You are the stewards of the pulse that beats here. Tread lightly. Listen to the forest as it whispers in the early summer wind. Protect this fragile sanctuary before the mirror shows a reflection too broken to heal, for the earth remembers every kindness—and every wound.
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𝙇𝙖𝙠𝙚 𝙈𝙘𝘿𝙤𝙣𝙖𝙡𝙙
Glacier National Park, MT
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June, 2026
Canon EOS R1/Canon RF 28-70mm Lens: 1/160, f/16, 28mm, 125-ISO
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#𝙁𝙪𝙣𝙁𝙖𝙘𝙩𝙨 The ghostly gray tree trunks lining Lake McDonald are leftovers from massive wildfires like the 2003 fires that swept the park. These fires are a natural cycle, clearing space for new forests to rise and reflect in the lake's deep waters.

08/31/2026

𝙏𝙝𝙚 𝙊𝙗𝙨𝙞𝙙𝙞𝙖𝙣 𝙎𝙤𝙫𝙚𝙧𝙚𝙞𝙜𝙣

The late August air in Ramsey Canyon hung thick with the stillness that always precedes a storm, trapping the scent of damp pine and cold stone between the limestone walls. At an elevation where lesser creatures struggled for breath, something vast and ancient stirred within the encroaching shadows.

He was a titan among his kin, towering over the frantic, smaller hummers that darted through the ravine. Perched motionless upon a jagged sliver of lightning-split wood, the male Rivoli’s hummingbird looked less like a living creature and more like an ominous relic carved from polished jet. To the untrained eye, he was merely an obsidian silhouette swallowed by the mountain gloom, but when the dying evening light cut through the canopy at an exact angle, the illusion broke into violence. A cap of deep, sinister amethyst flared atop his skull, while a gorget of emerald fire burned with unnatural ferocity across his throat.

Beneath that armored velvet chest, a subterranean tempest raged. His heart raced at over a thousand beats per minute, a frantic, thrumming engine vibrating on the razor-thin boundary between manic vitality and sudden death.

He did not hover with the light, cheerful flutter of common birds. He commanded the air with heavy, deliberate beats that carried the subtle weight of an empire exiled from the south. The small sycamore grove fell deathly quiet as he locked his dark gaze onto the pale blossoms below. With a single silent, downward plunge, his long, needle-sharp bill pierced the throat of a deep flower, draining the nectar with predatory precision.

A cold downdraft rolled off the Huachuca peaks, carrying the scent of early autumn and impending drought. By the time a branch shuddered in the wind, the emerald flash had dissolved. The phantom of the canyon was already gone, melting into the velvet darkness, leaving only a lingering chill where a monarch had reigned.
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𝙏𝙝𝙚 '𝙈𝙖𝙜𝙣𝙞𝙛𝙞𝙘𝙚𝙣𝙩' 𝙍𝙞𝙫𝙤𝙡𝙞'𝙨 𝙃𝙪𝙢𝙢𝙞𝙣𝙜𝙗𝙞𝙧𝙙
📍Ramsey Canyon, Arizona
August, 2026
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#𝙛𝙪𝙣𝙛𝙖𝙘𝙩𝙨 At 1200 beats per minute, the Rivoli's hummingbird has one of the fastest heart rates in the animal kingdom
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📷Canon EOS R1/Canon RF 200-800mm Lens: 1/800, f/9.0, 800mm, 800-ISO

08/26/2026

𝙏𝙝𝙚 𝙑𝙚𝙞𝙣𝙨 𝙤𝙛 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙀𝙖𝙧𝙩𝙝

𝘛𝘩𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩 𝘢𝘯𝘤𝘪𝘦𝘯𝘵 𝘴𝘵𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘸𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘴𝘩𝘢𝘥𝘰𝘸𝘴 𝘴𝘰𝘧𝘵𝘭𝘺 𝘤𝘳𝘦𝘦𝘱,
𝘐 𝘢𝘮 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘱𝘶𝘭𝘴𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘮𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘵𝘢𝘪𝘯𝘴 𝘴𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘯 𝘵𝘰 𝘬𝘦𝘦𝘱.

Before you learned to count the passing of your fleeting years, I was already carving my name into the bones of this earth. I am not merely water tumbling down from the high reaches of Glacier National Park; I am the restless memory of the peaks, rushing forward with a hunger you can neither tame nor understand.

Every drop of me carries the crushing weight of melting snows and the sorrow of stones ground down to dust. When you stand beside the Avalanche Trail and gaze down into my churning gorge, you are looking at the very lifeblood of a world that existed long before your ancestors drew breath—and one that will remain long after your names have dissolved into the soil.

I do not hurry because I am afraid. I hurry because I am driven by an ancient, eternal longing to merge with the great deep, tearing through ancient rock and moss-draped canyons without a moment of hesitation. Listen closely when you stand near my banks. Can you hear the low, thundering roar? That is the heartbeat of the wild, unyielding earth, reminding you of how fragile you are, and how intensely alive you can be if you only dare to feel.

📍 𝙂𝙡𝙖𝙘𝙞𝙚𝙧 𝙉𝙖𝙩𝙞𝙤𝙣𝙖𝙡 𝙋𝙖𝙧𝙠, Avalanche Trail, Montana

📷 𝘾𝙖𝙣𝙤𝙣 EOS R1, 𝘾𝙖𝙣𝙤𝙣 RF 28-70mm f/2L USM

⚙️ 𝙎𝙚𝙩𝙩𝙞𝙣𝙜𝙨 2/Sec | f/22| 28mm | ISO 125

💧 #𝙁𝙪𝙣𝙁𝙖𝙘𝙩𝙨 Did you know? Glacier National Park’s rushing waters and streams carve through some of the oldest sedimentary rock in North America—ancient, 1.5-billion-year-old Belt Supergroup rocks born from ancient inland seas!

Glacier National Park Canon USA

08/25/2026

🦅 𝙎𝙥𝙞𝙧𝙞𝙩 𝙤𝙛 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝘾𝙖𝙣𝙮𝙤𝙣

High above the rugged canyons, a master of silent skies rides the thermal currents with effortless grace, embodying the wild, untamed spirit of the desert landscape. Every feather is a testament to the patient art of observation, suspended for a single, breathless moment against the azure expanse.
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• 𝘽𝙞𝙧𝙙: Gray Hawk 🦅
• 𝘿𝙖𝙩𝙚 𝘾𝙖𝙥𝙩𝙪𝙧𝙚𝙙: August 2026 📅
• 𝙇𝙤𝙘𝙖𝙩𝙞𝙤𝙣: Ramsey Canyon, Arizona 🌵
• 𝘾𝙖𝙢𝙚𝙧𝙖 𝙎𝙚𝙩𝙪𝙥: Canon EOS R1 with Canon RF 200-800mm lens 📷
• 𝙎𝙚𝙩𝙩𝙞𝙣𝙜𝙨: 1/800s, f/9.0, 800mm, ISO 1250 ⚙️
• #𝙁𝙪𝙣𝙁𝙖𝙘𝙩𝙨 Unlike many other raptors, Gray Hawks have a specialized diet heavily reliant on lizards, often perching quietly for long stretches to ambush reptiles with lightning speed! 🦎✨

08/23/2026

𝙏𝙝𝙚 𝘼𝙫𝙖𝙡𝙖𝙣𝙘𝙝𝙚 𝙇𝙖𝙠𝙚 𝙏𝙧𝙖𝙞𝙡 in Glacier National Park, Montana, is a popular 4.5 to 5-round-trip hike starting from the Trail of the Cedars off Going-to-the-Sun Road, featuring a mild 700-foot elevation gain, lush old-growth forests, and a scenic alpine lake fed by waterfalls from Sperry Glacier.
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#𝙁𝙪𝙣𝙁𝙖𝙘𝙩𝙨

𝘿𝙞𝙨𝙩𝙖𝙣𝙘𝙚: About 4.6 to 5 miles round-trip
𝙀𝙡𝙚𝙫𝙖𝙩𝙞𝙤𝙣 𝙂𝙖𝙞𝙣: Roughly 740 feet
𝙏𝙞𝙢𝙚 𝙩𝙤 𝘾𝙤𝙢𝙥𝙡𝙚𝙩𝙚: 2 to 4 hours
𝙇𝙤𝙘𝙖𝙩𝙞𝙤𝙣: West side of Glacier National Park, near Lake McDonald
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#𝙏𝙧𝙖𝙞𝙡𝙃𝙞𝙜𝙝𝙡𝙞𝙜𝙝𝙩𝙨

𝙏𝙧𝙖𝙞𝙡 𝙤𝙛 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝘾𝙚𝙙𝙖𝙧𝙨: Begins on an elevated boardwalk through a massive cedar and hemlock forest.
𝘼𝙫𝙖𝙡𝙖𝙣𝙘𝙝𝙚 𝘾𝙧𝙚𝙚𝙠: Follows a steep, narrow gorge with roaring turquoise water and smooth rock cascades.
𝙏𝙝𝙚 𝙇𝙖𝙠𝙚: Opens up to a pristine glacial cirque framed by towering cliffs and multiple cascading waterfalls originating from Sperry Glacier.
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#𝙄𝙢𝙥𝙤𝙧𝙩𝙖𝙣𝙩𝙏𝙞𝙥𝙨

𝙋𝙖𝙧𝙠𝙞𝙣𝙜: The trailhead lot fills up very fast, often completely by 7:00 AM.
𝙒𝙞𝙡𝙙𝙡𝙞𝙛𝙚: Grizzly and black bears frequent the area; carry bear spray.
𝙍𝙚𝙨𝙩𝙧𝙞𝙘𝙩𝙞𝙤𝙣𝙨: Dogs are not allowed on the trail.
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𝘾𝙖𝙢𝙚𝙧𝙖 𝙎𝙝𝙞𝙯𝙯𝙮: Canon EOS R1/Canon RF 28-70mm Lens: 1/160, f/16, 28mm, 125-ISO
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Glacier National Park

08/23/2026

𝙏𝙝𝙚 𝘿𝙚𝙨𝙚𝙧𝙩’𝙨 𝙎𝙞𝙡𝙚𝙣𝙩 𝙋𝙧𝙖𝙮𝙚𝙧

The heat of August presses down on the Arizona desert like a physical weight, a shimmering blanket that steals your breath away. From my perch atop this bleached, skeletal rock, I watch. I have seen countless suns rise and set, each painting the sky with colors that sear the soul. But this heat… this heat is different. It carries the scent of dust and memory, of rain that hasn't fallen in too long.

They call me a Burrowing Owl, but I am something else. I am a sentinel of the shifting sands, a keeper of the ancient tales woven into the saguaro and the mesquite. My home is a labyrinth of tunnels beneath the earth, a cool sanctuary from the desert’s fiery breath. But even there, the stillness is heavy, laden with the weight of things forgotten.

The sun is a relentless eye today, blinding and white. Yet, when I tilt my head, when I stare up into that shimmering, infinite blue, I don't see the sun. I see the souls that have moved on, dancing on dust motes, whispering secrets to the wind. I feel them, the spirits of the ancestors, of creatures that once called this place home before the world began to change.

But my golden eyes, they see beyond the surface. They see the pain of the land, the thirst of the rivers that have dried to dust, the weariness of the ancient spirits. I feel their presence, a low, constant hum beneath my talons.

There is a sadness in this desert, a deep-seated ache that resonates in my very bones. It is the sound of things slipping away, of the wild places growing smaller and more silent. It is the silent cry of the horned lizard and the gila monster, the fading echo of the canyon wren’s song. And yet, in this sadness, there is also a profound beauty, a resilient spirit that refuses to be broken.

When you look at me, don't just see a bird. See the spirit of the desert itself, yearning, praying, hoping. See the fragile connection between all things, the airy threads that bind the hawk to the sky and the ant to the sand.

Feel the ancient wisdom, the quiet strength that endures, even in the face of insurmountable odds. Let your heart open, just for a moment, to the silent language of the wild. Maybe, just maybe, you'll hear the desert's prayer, a whispered reminder of what was and what could still be. Let that echo in the quiet spaces of your own heart.
───
𝘽𝙪𝙧𝙧𝙤𝙬𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙊𝙬𝙡
Scottsdale, AZ
August
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𝙎𝙚𝙩 𝙐𝙥: Canon EOS R1/Canon RF 200-800mm Lens: 1/800, f/9.0, 800mm, 800-ISO
───
#𝙁𝙪𝙣𝙁𝙖𝙘𝙩𝙨 While the majority of owls are strictly nocturnal, burrowing owls are diurnal (active during the day), often spotted standing at attention on their long, featherless legs like tiny sentinels in the blazing desert sun.

Dave Vincent Pro Photo

09/07/2026

09/05/2026

09/05/2026

09/03/2026

09/01/2026

08/31/2026

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08/23/2026

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