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Abundancia manager Linzy Behr grins as she dons a black knit poncho. The echo of playful dogs reverberates through the newly-renovated second-hand store as artist Alex Ellis joins in the fun, pulling a thick “pleather” jacket from a plastic hanger.

“This store has a new breath of life,” says Ellis. He sweeps one arm across his body, showcasing the neatly-arranged merchandise. “Linzy’s done an incredible job with this place.”

Soft yellow paint coats the rounded corners of an adobe storefront lining the Las Vegas Plaza, giving sunlight opportunity to cast shadow against a recessed door. Delicate ristras, ochre paint clinging to the rough surface, echo a white sign offering burritos smothered in red or green. Nancy Philo’s painting of JB’s Tortilla Cones’ facade offers a humorous zen koan, a painting of a painting.

“Las Vegas inspires me to paint,” Philo muses, “the interplay of old and new, the unusual nooks and crannies. I can’t imagine a better subject.”

A Japanese monk lifted an empty teapot, passing an empty cup, ritualistically savoring bitter tea that no longer exists as a chorus of monks sang “though the bowl is empty, the scent glows.”

Members of the Las Vegas Guild of the Santa Fe Opera leaned forward, let the music, as fine and enlightening as vapor from steaming green tea waft over them during the American premiere of Tan Dun’s opera, Tea, last August in Santa Fe.

In a restaurant just around the corner from the Optic hangs a picture of John and Jacqueline Kennedy sitting on a boat of some sort, laughing and looking so happy, so carefree, that it’s hard to believe they really existed. Eating lunch at a table across from this picture, I began to think about the American dream.

The sound of the shutter surprises a nesting sparrow. Elena Gallegos points her camera at what seems to be nothing — a wisp of dried sweetgrass, a dusty stone, the crack between two slabs of concrete. She tries to steady her hands. Click. Click. The sparrow flits from one branch to another, curious, aware.

Chickens are a godsend for organic gardeners and farmers. Needing only basic care, they sally forth into gardens, devouring with gusto pests such as grasshoppers and slugs which often decimate crops, and converting them into fertilizer and healthy, free range eggs and meat.

But can chickens be legally kept in the city of Las Vegas? I asked Thomas Garza, Las Vegas' director of animal control; Garza said that chickens can be kept in the city, and helpfully provided the City's Animal Control Ordinance, which has this to say about keeping chickens:

The first thing that strikes the listener is that the woman’s voice is stone cold melodic, even, unafraid. She stands at a microphone, her head cocked to one side as she interlaces curt words, deliberate ideas, into a rug tightly-woven enough to carry weight. Her gestures suggest necessary defiance, the aural transfer of sacred inalienable truth.

As three movies were filming in town last month I came to realize that the world has discovered our secret, and how great Las Vegas really is.

When I drive down Seventh and Eighth streets, I see rows of Victorian homes. On the west side of town there are hundreds of traditional southwestern homes, which show off the architecture of the original Las Vegas. I am told that the same houses in another part of the country would cost five to 10 times as much and that the Victorians would be priced at least $1 million.

A middle-aged women sits on a rugged brick floor, arms folded tightly across her chest, a thick plaid blanket tucked around her waist. A corner of white fabric lies next to her, suggesting a selection of unseen tooled silver, perhaps tiny spiral earrings, or delicate belt conchos in the shape of the zia. Her slightly pained expression speaks of fatigue, of crisp Santa Fe air. Deborah Paisner’s oil painting, “Carol at the Palace of Governors,” examines contemplation, waiting, longing — the emotions of time, the emotions of every working woman.