I spent most of my life near the ocean — sometimes blocks or minutes way from the Pacific — in Southern California. I made time, nearly every day, to see the shore or bay and birds. To take photos of them, too. But two and a half years ago, I moved to Roswell, New Mexico, where I have learned to love another kind of view: whatever the seasons at the edge of the high plains will give up to be seen. That may be a little craved-for water or what comes out in the rain, something live the wind tossed away or froze, and the sky that seems to go on and on like an ocean I used to know.