Endment

Christmas Bells

2011-12-25T12:24:00.004-05:00

"I heard the bells on Christmas Day
Their old familiar carols play,
And wild and sweet
The words repeat
Of peace on earth, good-will to men!

And thought how, as the day had come,
The belfries of all Christendom
Had rolled along
The unbroken song
Of peace on earth, good-will to men!

Till, ringing, singing on its way,
The world revolved from night to day,
A voice, a chime
A chant sublime
Of peace on earth, good-will to men!

Then from each black accursed mouth
The cannon thundered in the South,
And with the sound
The carols drowned
Of peace on earth, good-will to men!

It was as if an earthquake rent
The hearth-stones of a continent,
And made forlorn
The households born
Of peace on earth, good-will to men!

And in despair I bowed my head;
"There is no peace on earth," I said;
"For hate is strong,
And mocks the song
Of peace on earth, good-will to men!"

Then pealed the bells more loud and deep:
"God is not dead; nor doth he sleep!
The Wrong shall fail,
The Right prevail,
With peace on earth, good-will to men!"

~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

Things to do on a December Day When There is No Water

2011-12-16T21:46:00.002-05:00

Check all the faucets in the house.

Bang a bit on the pipes.

Go out the front door and check up and down the street to see if you are the only one without water.

Speculate with the neighbors about how long it might be until the water is back on again.

Collect all the bottled water from all around the house.

Make certain there is water in the expensive bottled water dispenser — and an extra 5 gallon bottle — just in case...

Count the small bottles of water.

Send husband and daughter into town to get things to eat that don’t require water to cook, prepare or eat them.

Think about a nice whirlpool bath.

Spend a lot of time searching for a place that accepts dogs, cats and refugees from a broken water main.

Itch my head and search the internet for dry shampoo.

Look for a net-flix video to watch that doesn’t have ocean, lake or stream scenes.

Find our large bottle of hand sanitizer.

Collect paper towel and set them out in strategic places.

Search all the closets, drawers, shelves, picnic basket and boxes for "Wet Ones" hand wipes - set them out also.

Dream of bubbles, fragrant oil and warm water surging up around my shoulders from a whirlpool.

Discover that the lettuce wasn’t pre-washed.

Make sandwiches without lettuce.

Decide that I abhor the scent of hand sanitizer.

Discover that hand sanitizer comes off when I hold a sandwich and its taste is even worse than its smell.

Listen to the sound of the back hoe digging a trench - searching for a broken pipe.

Collect buckets, empty water bottles and pans so they can be filled with water from a working faucet down the road.

Watch the long rows of dirt build along the trench next to the back hoe.

Welcome with relief the coming of bedtime.

Dream of a whirlpool of warm water splashing all around me.....

More Geese

2011-11-21T20:08:00.000-05:00

Hunter's Morning

2011-11-20T09:00:00.000-05:00

This is a hunter’s morning. From the early calling of owls and the Northern Harrier flying low over the fields to the small gray cat stalking through the corn (I only notice her because her four white paws catch the light every time she moves). And then there are the hunters tramping through the woods blasting away at anything moving. I can see exactly where they are; the flocks of geese have diverted from their usual route and make a wide swing to either side of the wooded knoll where the hunters wait.

The sunrise is worth dragging myself and all my gear out the door. Clouds are all tipped with gold and vermillion - guess that is only to the east, there are few clouds to the west over the Catskills, although they are building in very slow waves. The clouds are spitting on me - just a few drops of water; not enough to get me wet but enough that I need to cover my camera.

I need more words! The entire eastern sky is aflame with color red, scarlet, crimson, vermillion, orange, yellow - layer upon layer of intense glowing color.
Absolutely breathtaking!

If the colors were not already causing me to loose my breath — this wind would. It is on a real tear. I could believe it had small shards of ice to carry as it is jetting through the air even through my heavy down coat and especially through my fur lined leather gloves — I am Cold!!! Heading in to a warm house, a comfortable recliner, a cup of steaming tea and a good book....

Anniversary of the Gettysburg Address

2011-11-19T12:03:00.001-05:00

The Gettysburg Address
Gettysburg, Pennsylvania
November 19, 1863
On June 1, 1865, Senator Charles Sumner commented on what is now considered the most famous speech by President Abraham Lincoln. In his eulogy on the slain president, he called it a "monumental act." He said Lincoln was mistaken that "the world will little note, nor long remember what we say here." Rather, the Bostonian remarked, "The world noted at once what he said, and will never cease to remember it. The battle itself was less important than the speech."

Four score and seven years ago our fathers brought forth on this continent, a new nation, conceived in Liberty, and dedicated to the proposition that all men are created equal.

Now we are engaged in a great civil war, testing whether that nation, or any nation so conceived and so dedicated, can long endure. We are met on a great battle-field of that war. We have come to dedicate a portion of that field, as a final resting place for those who here gave their lives that that nation might live. It is altogether fitting and proper that we should do this.

But, in a larger sense, we can not dedicate -- we can not consecrate -- we can not hallow -- this ground. The brave men, living and dead, who struggled here, have consecrated it, far above our poor power to add or detract. The world will little note, nor long remember what we say here, but it can never forget what they did here. It is for us the living, rather, to be dedicated here to the unfinished work which they who fought here have thus far so nobly advanced. It is rather for us to be here dedicated to the great task remaining before us -- that from these honored dead we take increased devotion to that cause for which they gave the last full measure of devotion -- that we here highly resolve that these dead shall not have died in vain -- that this nation, under God, shall have a new birth of freedom -- and that government of the people, by the people, for the people, shall not perish from the earth.

Winter Trees

2011-11-04T11:45:00.000-04:00

Have you ever noticed a tree standing naked against the sky,
How beautiful it is?
All its branches are outlined, and in its nakedness
There is a poem, there is a song.
Every leaf is gone and it is waiting for the spring.
When the spring comes, it again fills the tree with
The music of many leaves,
Which in due season fall and are blown away.
And this is the way of life.
- Krishnamurti

Winter Lace

2011-11-02T08:05:00.001-04:00

One Leaf

2011-10-27T21:53:00.000-04:00

"One leaf left on a branch
and not a sound of sadness
or despair. One leaf left
on a branch and no unhappiness.
One leaf left all by itself
in the air and it does not speak
of loneliness or death.
One leaf and it spends itself
in swaying mildly in the breeze."
- David Ignatow

Luna Moth

2011-06-08T09:07:00.000-04:00

Spring

2011-03-30T22:35:00.001-04:00

DOWNLOADING SPRING...
████████░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░ 33% DONE.
Install delayed....please wait.
Installation failed. Please try again.

Thanks to Cindy Mead for keeping me up to date with the problems

Thinking Spring

2011-03-20T22:57:00.000-04:00

2011

2010-12-31T23:41:00.004-05:00

Fragrant bubbles rising high
around me
I loll in a warm whirlpool
re-reading a familiar old friend
“A Naturalist's Cabin” by Cathy Johnson

A perfect way to end an old year
and to welcome the new.

Wishing you joy and happiness

Happy New Year 2011!

Frosted

2010-12-30T08:00:00.002-05:00

WoodSong --- Great Textures

2010-12-17T19:46:00.003-05:00

See Cindy Mead's blog WoodSong Nature Photography/Vision Quest Artworks giveaway for texturing interface, courtesy of Totally Rad Photoshop Actions & Plugins. Be sure to take a look at the wonderful work Cindy is going using their software while you are there :) WoodSong

Time for Reflection

2010-06-09T19:23:00.001-04:00

Spring

2010-05-04T16:36:00.009-04:00

Spring has arrived --- a time for poetry and flowers

"Everything is blooming most recklessly;
if it were voices instead of colors, there would
be an unbelievable shrieking into the heart of the night."
~ Rainer Maria Rilke, Letters of Rainer Maria Rilke

"The country ever has a lagging Spring,
Waiting for May to call its violets forth,
And June its roses--showers and sunshine bring,
Slowly, the deepening verdure o'er the earth;
To put their foliage out, the woods are slack,
And one by one the singing-birds come back.

Within the city's bounds the time of flowers
Comes earlier. Let a mild and sunny day,
Such as full often, for a few bright hours,
Breathes through the sky of March the airs of May,
Shine on our roofs and chase the wintry gloom--
And lo! our borders glow with sudden bloom."
~ William Cullen Bryant, Spring in Town, 1850

"The trees are coming into leaf
Like something almost being said;
The recent buds relax and spread,
Their greenness is a kind of grief.

Is it that they are born again
And we grow old? No, they die too,
Their yearly trick of looking new
Is written down in rings of grain.

Yet still the unresting castles thresh
In fullgrown thickness every May.
Last year is dead, they seem to say,
Begin afresh, afresh, afresh."
~ Philip Larkin, The Trees

Winter Sunshine

2010-01-07T19:02:00.004-05:00

Cold and gray today - a day to brew a steaming cup of tea put on a favorite cd, cuddle up in a comfortable chair with a great book and stay close to a warm fire.

The grey seemed to permiate the entire clearing, woods and even the house so I looked for something that might bring some sunshine into my day and found these lovely roses -- I enjoyed their light and color so much I thought I would share them with you :)

Winter at Olana

2009-12-30T22:06:00.007-05:00

In spite of the seventeen degree weather and wind we enjoyed spending time at Olana, the 250 acre Persian style home of Hudson River School Artist Frederic Edwin Church (1826-1900) in the town of Greenport, Columbia County, New York. It was interesting to discover that Olana means "our church on high" in Arabic.
The house has an absolutely spectacular view of the Catskill Mountains and of the Hudson River.

Happy Holiday

2009-12-25T09:19:00.001-05:00

wishing you all the joys of the season

Oh Is it July?

2009-07-03T10:08:00.010-04:00

June - Rain ..... July - Rain .... plants, trees, ground, birds all covered with raindrops.
Hummingbirds are here in full force - babies are beginning to leave their nests and come with their parents to the feeders and flowers. They haven't yet reached last summer's level of drinking four quarts of syrup a day but they are emptying two quarts a day already. As soon as I carry a feeder out the door the birds are humming over my head and drinking from the feeding cones before I can even get it properly hung on its hook.
Flowers are opening only to be drenched by the rain before evening falls. Many of the plants are actually standing in water. Yet they continue to share their beauty --- blooms such as this Beard-tongue Penstemon attract the humming birds and take my breath away.
Each morning and evening we have been visited by one of five bears, a lone yearling, a large male or a momma with her twin cubs. We hang our feeders on the side of the house to avoid encouraging their visits but we are on the trail that takes them from the river to the mountain top --- through the blueberries :)

Unknown Moth

2009-05-17T16:17:00.004-04:00

Just came in from a trip to the nursery --- more plants for the deck and the garden :)
Discovered this lovely moth on our front door. Does anyone know its name? By the way- the front door is in the Upper Delaware River Valley of New York - if that helps with identification

The Winter of the Siskins

2009-04-17T13:28:00.007-04:00

Winter days are days for bird watching from the comfort of a warm recliner. We have well over a dozen feeders up each year; thistle, black oil sunflower seeds, mixed grain and suet cakes attract a regular contingent of at least eighteen species each winter day.
I think this winter will be remembered as the time of the Pine Siskins (Carduelis pinus ).Many winters it is Goldfinches that mob the thistle feeders and we have just a few Pine Siskins although now and then a larger flock may come for a few days. But this winter our thistle feeders are usually filled with siskins - joined by only the occasional determined American Goldfinch.
A large flock of the siskins- several hundred birds - arrived in late fall and have remained in varying numbers all winter long. I’ve read that the Pine Siskin's winter visits to the United States occur mainly in years when the seed crop has failed in the boreal forests. They are acrobats, often hanging upside down, like titmice and chickadees, plucking seeds from hanging seedpods and cones.
The birds are so hungry and eat so rapidly there is a constant shower of thistle hulls falling to the ground. I expect we are going to find the soil under the feeders makes some unusually nice compost for our garden in a year or so. We have begun to wonder whether or not we will need to cut back on our groceries so that we can continue to supply our voracious visitors with Nyjer Thistle. Our siskins are eating their way through about twenty-five pounds of seed a week! Just like oil sunflower, the high oil content of Nyjer makes it an energy packed food that is highly desirable for any bird adapted to eating small seeds. Since it is shipped across the ocean from Ethiopia and India and has to be heat sterilized to kill out any weed seeds, it is rather expensive bird food but there is nothing else available that is as attractive to Pine Siskins and Goldfinches.
I understand that Nyjer is a native of Ethiopia and apparently it is not a thistle at all but is in fact a relative of the beautiful cosmos that we enjoy as a garden flower here in the United States. Our other winter residents have had to push their way through the crowds of siskins to receive their usual rations. We have moved a number of black oil sunflower seed feeders away from the thistle feeders so the other birds can have a chance at the food.

Siskin calls are amazing when one hears a large flock just outside the window. They have a short sweet call followed by a loud sharp buzzing zrreeeeet.

I had expected the siskins to head north as soon as the ground thawed and we had a few sunny days — although a few have gone - today our oak and maple trees are covered with pine siskins sitting among the deep red maple blossoms. Cornell Lab indicates that following a large irruptive winter fligh some individuals may stay near a dependable food source and breed far south of the normal breeding range. So, if the seed holds out, our siskins may be here for a while.

Today is the Day

2009-04-09T20:16:00.002-04:00

This is it!!!
This is the day that Spring arrived in our corner of the world.

How can I tell it was today, not yesterday or the day before?

How do I know it isn’t arriving tomorrow?

There are certain signs of spring that are unmistakable.From my loft window I can see the deep winey orange-red of the first blossoms on the maple trees. A brilliant contrast against the deep blue of the sky and the dark colors of the evergreen trees.

Flats of seeds are sprouting under the grow lights in the basement. Lettuce, basil, parsley, sage, thyme, marjoram, tomatoes, peppers, delphinium, foxgloves, marigolds, coreopsis. Chipmunks have come out of their warm dry nests and are filling their cheek pouches to the bursting point, racing back and forth up and down the hill - considering the way they rush one would think they were having to prepare dinner for unexpected horde of guests.

When I saw that the maple buds had opened, I knew it was time to wander to the back side of the hill and search the club mosses for the buds or blooms of the Trailing arbutus. At first glance all I could see were shiny dark green leaves. But this search demands close inspection - nearly impossible as one ages to get down on hands and knees to search - luckily that wasn’t necessary today. A bright ray of sunlight picked out the blush of pink under the dark leaves. Ah, it must be spring.
Robins are scratching through the tiny new shoots of grass, searching for the worms that are waking and stretching in the first warm days.
Crocus decorate the walkway with a purple edging along the stairs into the lower woods.
One of the things I like best about crocus is that most of the critters leave them alone so they are beginning to naturalize in the garden.
Sixty degrees, bright blue sky and puffy clouds sailing past on gentle breezes add to the sense that spring has arrived. But the ultimate sign of spring is that Phoebes are calling from a dead branch of a large White Pine and perching on the power line just outside my kitchen window.

Just checking to see if Spring has arrived yet

2009-03-29T11:58:00.000-04:00

Aging

2009-03-20T15:44:00.000-04:00

"One of the many things no one tells you about aging is that it is such a nice change from being young." -- Unknown

Kody

2009-03-16T18:06:00.003-04:00

"There is no psychiatrist in the world like a puppy licking your face." - Ben Williams

Fourteen months ago - our lives were quiet and somewhat sedate. We had settled into a daily routine. I spent many days alone while my better half was working in the city. Wild birds were my favorite entertainment and we spent hours watching and photographing them. Now you must understand that bird watching is primarily entertainment - the photography is frequently an exercise in futility as the contrary creatures are often far beyond the reach of the lens of my camera or they choose to pose behind the biggest twigs or sticks to be found in the woods.

All of that changed the day Kody entered our lives. No more lingering under the down comforter; now Kody wants to join me. No longer do I bundle up and sit alone on the deck watching the turkeys scratch under the bird feeders or deer come browse on our favorite and most expensive viburnum. When Kody comes out on the deck the barking begins; these are invaders in his kingdom! He must proclaim for all to hear that he is in charge and they may only come into the yard with his permission which is only given from inside the house where he is no longer aware that they are nibbling away at seed and treasured plants.

This tiny three pound Pomeranian pup has grown to a seventeen pound armful much more like the breed’s ancestor the Spitz than the tiny Pomeranian I had expected. NO! I don’t want to send him back — well, at least not most of the time— not now that he is housebroken and has become part of the family.

This little Kody dog loves to chew. He mostly eats rawhide. Thanks to the inspiration of Hannah Hinchman (in her book “Little Things in a Big Country”), I learned to rub the rawhide with “Tillamook extra-sharp cheddar.” Usually he is delighted with his rawhide and settles down by my feet to munch contentedly ... of course here in the east it is very difficult to get Tillamook cheese so sometimes we must settle for a Vermont substitute :) Then there are the times when he reverts to his full stage of puppyhood and chews up his bed, pulling out great wads of stuffing before I even notice that he has changed from gnawing rawhide to ripping up fabric. My needle has been kept busy sewing up stuffed puppy toys, my goose down lap-robe, two of his beds - both were marketed as being good for dogs who have a strong chewing instinct. Now I am wondering if the marketers meant that the beds were easy to chew.

Everything chewable - which we have come to realize means everything - is now located at least three feet above the floor and more than a dog’s reach beyond all chairs and other furniture. All trash cans are now covered or enclosed; we watch with admiration as he figures out how to open them. Kody is strictly a gourmet eater; his favorite foods are Kleenex - either new or used, chicken, salmon, and dirty socks. When offered something like kibble he gives it a ceremonial sniff and looks at us with a look that seems to say “what do you expect me to do with that?” If pressed further he will simply turn his head to the side staring at nothing as if to say “kibble? We will not even discuss the subject.” Our trainer keeps reminding us that is important to keep track of who is training whom.
“I think we are drawn to dogs because they are the uninhibited creatures we might be if we weren't certain we knew better.“ ~ George Bird Evans

Wordless Wednesday - View from the front door

2009-03-04T18:08:00.002-05:00

Wordless Wednesday - Eastern Gray Squirrel

2009-02-25T11:22:00.002-05:00

Of Winter Days and Ducks

2009-02-23T22:38:00.004-05:00

On our trip along the Mongaup Reservoir we discovered a pair of Hooded Mergansers (Lophodytes cucullatus) in the icy river and stopped for quite awhile watching them work their way up along the far shore. In this frigid water, they are making long dives, coming up to preen, then back down again. We were cold even in the warm car (with the windows down so we could see better) yet the mergansers were lounging in the icy water seeming to be just a comfortable as if they were taking a slow trip in the Bahamas.

The male and female mergansers look so different one could almost think they belonged to entirely different families. The dashingly smart male has a broad rounded crest of pure white edged with jet black; the female is smaller and gray-brown on the upper part of her head. Her yellowish brown crest is shorter and more pointed, her chin whitish and the upper part of her neck and the sides of her head are a gray-brown. The males do not acquire the full beauty of their plumage until the third spring and resemble the females for their first year. During the second year the male's crest becomes more developed and the black and white markings on the head and body become more distance. It is not until the third spring that their plumage reaches its full elegance.

Soaring with Eagles

2009-02-22T21:42:00.001-05:00

Many days, this time of year, Bald Eagles (Haliaeetus leucocephalus) soar high over our yard. I watch for them through the skylight of my loft retreat. Eagles are a magnetic sight, they always make me catch my breath, stop whatever I am doing and simply watch until they are out of sight. There is something elegant and compelling about the eagle in flight. I often find myself wishing I could stretch out wings and follow him as he glides up the river.

We drove out across Rio Dam along Plank Road to a blind operated by the Eagle Institute Every weekend through March, there are volunteers at the blind helping people spot the eagles in the trees along the reservoir and providing interesting facts about these amazing bird neighbors.

(click on photos for a larger view)

Much of the property along the Mongaup Falls Reservoir and the Rio Reservoir is part of the Eagle Refuge. Driving up along the reservoir we saw a number of immature birds, one nearly mature bird with some white on its head and a fully mature male. The highlight of the afternoon was to see an immature female who has a tracking device attached. They have been tracking her for a number of months, she perched in a tree a few dozen yards from the blind --- She (the eagle) wears a transmitter and the researchers have receivers and a small antenna which looks a lot like a hand-held TV antenna. The small receiver beeps softly and slowly gaining in number of beeps and in volume as the tracker comes closer to the bird. The tracker told us the bird was behind the blind, just across the road in the pines on the north side of the river. One of the volunteers set up a telescope, through it we were able to get a very good look at the bird.
Took some photos --- but my lens is far too short to get a photo that shows any real detail at all. I am sharing what my lens captured.

Thankfulness

2008-11-25T13:47:00.002-05:00

The year has turned its circle,

The seasons come and go.

The harvest all is gathered in

And chilly north winds blow.

Orchards have shared their treasures,

The fields, their yellow grain,

So open wide the doorway,

Thanksgiving comes again.
~Author: Unknown

A time of many things

pressing and urgent

delightful and fulfilling

all keeping me from my computer

for a few days

may each of you

find rich blessings

during this season

Cold Autumn

2008-11-20T15:57:00.006-05:00

"O wild West Wind, thou breath of Autumn's being.

Thou, from whose unseen presence the leaves dead

Are driven, like ghosts from an enchanter fleeing."

- Percy Bysshe Shelley

No - this is not the moon

it is the sun

struggling to warm the day.

"So dull and dark are the November days.

The lazy mist high up the evening curled,

And now the morn quite hides in smoke and haze;

The place we occupy seems all the world."

- John Clare, November

O'Keeffe - Remembering her day of birth

2008-11-14T10:50:00.023-05:00

Georgia O'Keefe, born November 15, 1887 Sun Prairie Wisconsin, sculptor/painter,

I found I could say things with color and shapes that I couldn't say any other way - things I had no words for.

“I said to myself, I have things in my head that are not like what anyone has taught me - shapes and ideas so near to me - so natural to my way of being and thinking that it hasn't occurred to me to put them down.” ~ Georgia O'Keefe

“I decided that if I could paint that flower in a huge scale, you could not ignore its beauty.”

“Nobody sees a flower really; it is so small. We haven't time, and to see takes time - like to have a friend takes time.”

When we were living in the southwest there were many days when I could see nothing other than the sameness of the hill, the brown sand or the flat, flat field stretching out to a distant water tank or feed lot. O’Keeffe opened my eyes to a new view of the world. City blinders fell off and I began to see the colors — the wonderful breathtaking color of the landscape that surrounded me.

Words in italics are all quotes of Georgia O'Keeffe

for more about Georgia O'Keeffe go to the following links

http://www.okeeffemuseum.org/home.aspx

http://www.ellensplace.net/okeeffe1.html

http://www.morning-earth.org/ARTISTNATURALISTS/AN_O%27Keeffe.html

http://www.pbs.org/wnet/americanmasters/episodes/georgia-okeeffe/about-the-painter/55/

Wonder

2008-11-12T14:39:00.002-05:00

"The world will not perish for want of wonders,

But for want of wonder."

---JBS Haldane

"The fairest we can experience is the mysterious.It is the fundamental emotion which stands at the cradle of true art and true science.He who know it not and can no longer wonder, no longer feel amazement,is as good as dead, a snuffed out candle." ---Einstein

Celebration

2008-11-08T09:23:00.004-05:00

Each day there is a place I go
where I can find
rest
refreshing
inspiration

I pause for awhile
drinking in the spirit of the day
I walk the fields of Lanark
I am shown things I had not seen

Armchair traveler
I have been wafted
Into a world of enchantment
"Beyond the Fields We Know"

Thank you Cate
for every wonderful post

I lift my steaming cup of tea to you
Congratulations
Happy Third Blogging Anniversary

Join me in visiting Cate at Beyond the Fields We Know

Leaves

2008-11-06T21:43:00.002-05:00

"It's mornings like this;
The stingy sun trying to hold back
Even the warmth of its reflection
Flashing coldly In the lake.
When November leaves drop in sudden gusts,
Like a red and yellow flock of birds
Swooping at once to ground.
Or even nights:
When winds reach wet hands
To take you spinning with random paper
Down back street gutters, under straining bridges
To clogged rivers.
It's this:
The time of year, along with spring,
When poets must take care
Not to sing the same old songs
Stolen from tribal memory."
- Thomas R. Drinkard

Mourning Doves

2008-11-02T22:34:00.005-05:00

A flock of perhaps two dozen or more mourning doves (far more than are usually resident here) have taken over the hill behind the house. They are working through the leaves finding seeds and taking advantage of the mild weather to bathe in the birdbath just below the edge of the woods. One or two at a time they enter the bath. Settle themselves into the water - splash, flap their wings and splash some more - work water up into their feathers - turning splashing and turning again. They send up huge sprays of water in their energetic bathing. After a time they leave the pool some to dry on a low branch others find a spot on the rocks and spread out one wing at a time to dry in the warmth held deep inside the stone. Other birds find a bit of sunshine hitting a pine branch, spread out their white and black tail feathers to dry in that bit of sunlight. While those are drying and grooming, other birds come to the pool to repeat the exercise. The birds who are waiting their turn at the bath use a sunflower seed feeder, their little pink feet gripping tightly to any surface that makes a good perch for them while they grab a few bites of the seeds.

If

2008-11-01T14:24:00.002-04:00

If I had my life to live over I’d like to make more mistakes next time. I would limber up. I would be sillier than I have been this trip. I would take fewer things seriously. I would take more chances. I would climb more mountains and swim more rivers. I would eat more ice-cream and less beans. I would perhaps have more actual trouble, but I’d have fewer imaginary ones. You see. I’m one of those people who live sensibly and sanely hour after hour, day after day. Oh, I’ve had my moments, and if I had it to do over again, I’d have more of them. In fact, I’d try to have nothing else. Just moments, one after another, instead of living so many years ahead of each day. I’ve been one of those persons who never goes anywhere without a thermometer, a hot water bottle, a raincoat, and a parachute. If I had it to do over again, I would travel lighter than I have. If I had my life to live over, I would start barefoot earlier in the spring and stay that way later in the fall. I would go to more dances. I would ride more merry-go-rounds. I would pick more daisies.”

~Nadine Stair, age 83

Thinking of Australia or New Zealand

2008-02-04T11:15:00.000-05:00

The day is cold and dark and gray
and I would hide myself away
somewhere warm and bright
and filled with sun

I am thinking of places where the sun is shining - where it is warm and this everlasting gray has turned to green and become filled with blossoms.
Oh I love the seasons - I even enjoy the snow
but this GRAY, Gray, gray
Did I say gray was one of my favorite colors?
Guess I did.

Yet cold winds blow
the air is filled
with falling ice and snow
and I am longing for the sun...

The day is cold, and dark, and dreary;

It rains, and the wind is never weary;

The vine still clings to the moldering wall,

But at every gust the dead leaves fall,

And the day is dark and dreary.

My life is cold, and dark, and dreary;

It rains, and the wind is never weary;

My thoughts still cling to the moldering Past,

But the hopes of youth fall thick in the blast

And the days are dark and dreary.

Be still, sad heart! and cease repining;

Behind the clouds is the sun still shining;

Thy fate is the common fate of all,

Into each life some rain must fall,

Some days must be dark and dreary.

~~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow from "The Rainy Day"

In the midst of all this drizzle - there are bright spots arriving. Goldfinches, Pine Siskins and the Redpolls. Perhaps I can wait for another time to go to Australia or New Zealand.

Common Redpoll

Things That Keep Me Occupied

2008-01-26T22:58:00.000-05:00

The Puppy???!!!
Well ----- this is a long story — You know how it is.... I looked up and saw these beautiful brown eyes looking at me.... The tail was wagging, he licked my hand ---- well you can guess the rest - he joined us on January second and has not yet been with us a month but he has become a integral part of our lives and has changed our home as much as the arrival of any new baby.

"When the Man waked up he said,
'What is Wild Dog doing here?'
And the Woman said,
'His name is not Wild Dog any more,
but the First Friend,
because he will be our friend
for always and always and always.'" - Rudyard Kipling

I began to think the poor little doggie would be called Puppy for the rest of its life - we simply couldn’t choose a name that we thought really fit. Our family, grand children and friends all made suggestions from Blackie to POTUS from Bandit to Mr. Darcy. We made a long list, looked up origins and meanings and after a week of searching we found a name for the puppy. His name is Kody. \k(o)-dy\ is pronounced KOH-dee. The origin of the name a bit more difficult because there are two possible sources In the Gaelic it means helper or guide and in English it means helper or assistant.

One of the first essentials, after getting him to a vet for a health exam and shots, we recognized that we needed HELP. We tried to educate ourselves - bought "Pomeranians for Dummies", which is actually very helpful. We tried to learn about clicker training; read some material by Ian Dunbar, the founder of "Puppy Kindergarten" What distress - he told us we should have been planning for this puppy long before he arrived in our home - we should have taken classes so we were prepared to be good parents and trainers. Somewhat like our experience when we had our own children - we had no idea of the nearly insurmountable mountain of ignorance we had to overcome. Never-the-less here we are with a puppy. Now!!!!

It seemed urgent to find a skilled, patient and knowledgeable puppy trainer.
I called a couple of places listed in the phone book - After going through the list, I recognized that I am the problem - if I were not so ignorant I would not have bought a puppy where we did - (Well, we bought him at a Pet Feed Store... Quite frankly, I probably would never have gone looking for a puppy if I hadn’t kept seeing such beautiful and cute puppies every time I went into the Feed Store. ) I should have selected him weeks and weeks earlier, I would never .... I should.... I shouldn’t ... Why didn’t?...Well, we didn’t. So...here we are.

By this time - I am ready to let the puppy have the run of the house and lock myself in my closet.

A kind acquaintance suggested the name of a wonderful trainer - but we discovered she is about an hour and a half away. She kindly gave us a lead to the Association of Pet Dog Trainers (APDT)

We finally found a wonderful trainer. Barry McDonald, a retired English teacher is rescuing us from a life of poop and pee.... He is competent and gentle with Kody and the rest of us also. I think he may have more difficulty training us than Kody :)

Barry has only been coming for three weeks. Kody knows his name, he will sit on command, down on command and stand on command. He loves to play a version of fetch with three balls (which keeps us busier than it does Kody) and actually usually pees and poops in the proper place Hurrah!!!

My dog
"He is my other eyes that can see above the clouds; my other ears that hear above the winds. He is the part of me that can reach out into the sea. He has told me a thousand times over that I am his reason for being; by the way he rests against my leg; by the way he thumps his tail at my smallest smile; by the way he shows his hurt when I leave without taking him. (I think it makes him sick with worry when he is not along to care for me.) When I am wrong, he is delighted to forgive. When I am angry, he clowns to make me smile. When I am happy, he is joy unbounded. When I am a fool, he ignores it. When I succeed, he brags. Without him, I am only another man. With him, I am all-powerful. He is loyalty itself. He has taught me the meaning of devotion. With him, I know a secret comfort and a private peace. He has brought me understanding where before I was ignorant. His head on my knee can heal my human hurts. His presence by my side is protection against my fears of dark and unknown things. He has promised to wait for me... whenever... wherever - in case I need him. And I expect I will - as I always have. He is just my dog." - Gene Hill

Holiday Thoughts

2007-12-24T17:47:00.000-05:00

"You give but little when you give of your possessions.

It is when you give of yourself that you truly give."

--- Kahlil Gibran

Thanks to each of you who have given so much to me this past year!
Happy Holidays!

Music to bring you smiles this season

Seven Random Things Meme

2007-12-11T18:31:00.000-05:00

Reflection Basha Kill Marsh, NY early December

I've been tagged by Cate, whose blog Beyond the Fields We Know is one of the first places I go each morning.

I shall join the game. The rules are as follows :

link to the person who tagged you and post the rules on your blog.
share 7 random or weird things about yourself.
tag 7 random people at the end of your post, and include links to their blogs
let each person know they have been tagged by leaving a comment on their blog.

(1) During the early 1960's I began making dolls - the hobby grew and grew until many years ago (In what seems like another world) I taught dollmaking and had a studio. During those long ago days I made dolls from 1" tall to 5' tall. Now I like making dolls but the thing I enjoy most is making period clothing and accessories for the dolls.

(2) Adobe Photoshop CS2 has been installed on my computer. It sits here intimidating me. Even though I really want to learn to use the program and I open it regularly - I find that I do not really speak Photoshop CS yet.

(3) I have Porphyria. Even my doctor asks “What is that?”

(4) It is a heartfelt desire to take a close up picture of a Puffin – Now I must admit that just one probably wouldn’t meet my dreams or expectations but I do want to have a chance to click away until I am too cold or tired to keep clicking.

(5) One of my favorite spots to visit is Glacier Waterton Lakes Peace Park On the Canada/US Border. The last time we were there we were treated to views of a mama bear and her cub playing in the lake, Sandhill Cranes, and to top off the day a mountain lion hunting at sunset

(6) When sitting here during the gray winter days I frequently daydream about going on a long canoe trip. Preferably someplace where there are not a lot of mosquitoes.

(7) For many years I have collected Fashion Plates - Like Godey or Peterson’s but the ones I enjoy most are “La Saison”, “Journal des Demoiselles”, “La Mode”, “Victoria,” or “The World of Fashion”. Regularly I receive small flat packages for birthdays or other special occasions. Oh the joy and anticipation - these packages frequently contain some of my most treasured gifts

Lené at Counting Petals
Laura at Somewhere in New Jersey
Maureen at Raven’s Nest
Harmony at Harmony in Line
Mary at Wanting to be Here
Jessie at Diary of a Self-Portrait
z-silverlight at Over the Fence

Upon Waking

2007-11-19T07:45:00.000-05:00

Awaking this morning I looked out my window to discover the view had changed during the night.

“Winter came down to our home one night
Quietly pirouetting in on silvery-toed slippers of snow,
And we, we were children once again.”

~Bill Morgan, Jr.

Brown? Gray?

2007-11-09T22:58:00.001-05:00

The sun managed to peek through the gray for a few moments. Just long enough to signal the beginning of the day with a soft golden glow which set off the now barren branches of a tall oak and put a sparkle to the frost on a tall pine. Then the clouds drew a curtain over the sky and the day turned gray.

Once again I have been reading Hal Borland and he suggests these autumnal days are brown. Perhaps where he lived but here they are frost-bleached gray. The seed heads of the goldenrod are gray, the tall sedge are a silvered beige, the milkweed pod gray and white, the meadow grass, remaining leaves and even the rocks are coated with gray frost which has no sparkle since the sun is imprisoned behind the clouds.

We had errands to do but escaped for a short time to drive northward along the Delaware River looking for the last glories of Autumn, before the predicted rain and snow showers of tomorrow send the last of the leaves cascading from the trees to the ground.
We found some color still blazing along the river’s edge, the ground is covered with a deep carpet of colorful leaves. Still beautiful, a few remaining scarlet and gold maples and a steadfast red oak stand watch over a bleached meadow;

Hidden deep under the leaves of an ancient apple tree we find small green apples.

American Bittersweet vines trail from a large red oak, A late warbler flits through the trees, his elusive call tantalizing but leaving us disappointed when we are unable to locate his hidden perch.

It's mornings like this;
The stingy sun trying to hold back
Even the warmth of its reflection
Flashing coldly In the lake.
When November leaves drop in sudden gusts,
Like a red and yellow flock of birds
Swooping at once to ground.
Or even nights:
When winds reach wet hands
To take you spinning with random paper
Down back street gutters, under straining bridges
To clogged rivers.
It's this:
The time of year, along with spring,
When poets must take care
Not to sing the same old songs
Stolen from tribal memory.
- Thomas R. Drinkard

Shortly after we arrived home the sun went behind the hills a misty rain began. We hear the drops splatter as they fall through the leaves and the sighing of the wind as it moves through the trees. Winter is on its way.

Thinking of Autumn

2007-11-05T09:24:00.000-05:00

“Another glorious day, the air as delicious to the lungs as nectar to the tongue” — John MuirWhen I think of autumn - I think in terms of gold, bronze, wine, crimson, flame, yellow - fallen leaves of course, sunflowers, goldenrod, pumpkins and squashes. Of brilliant deciduous trees showcased against the deep shades of the pines, hemlocks and other evergreens.

Weather service people were warning that a frost was on the way and I want to preserve these memories through the winter days when I will have only the evergreens and the white snow outside my window. I took my camera out to capture the colors of autumn.

Upon viewing my photos I discover, among the gold and scarlet, deep purples and brilliant white; the bell like blossoms of the autumn clematis, the elegant peacock orchid, the tall stately monkshood. The Peacock Orchid brought splendor to mid-autumn reaching four to five feet tall with dozens of blossoms but the monks hood has provided the true splendor of the season. A clump nearly hidden behind the pines has grown to eight feet in height. A single stalk may have more than twenty blossoms and the clump itself has so many blooms we do not even try to count them.

Within just a few hours time, the frost has come - but I have memories.

No Words

2007-10-28T21:35:00.000-04:00

A Ribbon of Moonlight

2007-10-22T22:51:00.000-04:00

"The wind was a torrent of darkness among the gusty trees,

The moon was a ghostly galleon tossed upon cloudy seas,...

I memorized the words of Alfred Noyes "The Highwayman when I was in my early teens, not because of the romance of the poem but because of the images that filled my mind inspired by the words from these first two lines.

Tonight the wind gallops above the trees. Its own song nearly blotting out the intermitent calls of the katydid. Clouds hurry now ahead of the wind, racing across the face of that ghostly moon.

October Rain

2007-10-19T17:23:00.000-04:00

Long awaited rain has arrived today, refreshing the garden and washing our world. I stand on the deck watching leaves swirl from the trees and letting the rain wash my spirit.

“I am sure it is a great mistake always to know enough to go in when it rains.
One may keep snug and dry by such knowledge,
but one misses a world of loveliness.”

- Adeline Knapp

Sunshine on a Cloudy Morning

2007-10-09T08:45:00.000-04:00

Overcast with some fog and drizzle - brightened by friends

Take almost any path you please, and ten to one it carries you down in a dale, and leaves you there by a pool in the stream. There is magic in it. Let the most absent-minded of men be plunged in his deepest reveries--stand that man on his legs, set his feet a-going, and he will infallibly lead you to water, if water there be in all that region. Should you ever be athirst in the great American desert, try this experiment, if your caravan happen to be supplied with a metaphysical professor. Yes, as every one knows, meditation and water are wedded forever.- ~Herman Melville~

2007-10-05T20:23:00.000-04:00

Our day began with fog wending its way through the woods then the sun came out and gilded the yellow leaves of the oaks and beech filling the darkness with golden light. As the sun rose higher into the skies the clouds drifted away and soon autumn seemed more like summer as humidity and temperature began to climb. The weather reporters say that our temperature is twenty degrees higher than normal for this time of year.

Bees are gathering their last harvests of pollen from the flowers. The occasional butterfly is still seen on the late blooms of the herbs or cone flowers. Spring chicks have become full grown turkeys and fill the clearing with their calls.

Soaking up late autumn sunshine
reveling in crisp air
crimson, persimmon and yellow leaves
the enchantment of
sunlit woods

A small sound
draws my attention to
a blue clematis blossom
swaying in the breeze

As I watch
the bell like flower
bumps and seems ready
to jump from the vine

Wings buzzing
a bee backs slowly
out of the bell of the flower
golden pollen filling
sacks on his legs.

Autumn Visitor

2007-10-03T17:55:00.000-04:00

October

2007-10-01T23:35:00.000-04:00

A new month

beginning with a rainbow promise

seems like an invitation to begin again

When gentians roll their fingers tight

To save them for the morning,

And chestnuts fall from satin burrs

Without a sound of warning;
When on the ground red apples lie

In piles like jewels shining,

And redder still on old stone walls

Are leaves of woodbine twining;
When all the lovely wayside things

Their white-winged seeds are sowing,

And in the fields still green and fair,

Late aftermaths are growing;
When springs run low, and on the brooks,

In idle golden freighting,

Bright leaves sink noiseless in the hush

Of woods, for winter waiting;
When comrades seek sweet country haunts,

By twos and twos together,

And count like misers, hour by hour,

October's bright blue weather.

- Helen Hunt Jackson, October's Bright Blue Weather

Scrambling

2007-03-09T11:18:00.000-05:00

Lots of things happening and I am just scrambling to catch up.

"Before the beginning of years

There came to the making of man

Time, with a gift of tears;

Grief, with a glass that ran;

Pleasure, with pain for leaven;

Summer, with flowers that fell;

Remembrance, fallen from heaven,

And madness risen from hell;

Strength without hands to smite;

Love that endures for a breath;

Night, the shadow of light,

And Life, the shadow of death."

- - - -Algernon Charles Swinburne

Celebrate

2007-02-27T08:37:00.000-05:00

One of my favorite childhood memories is listening to an album of poetry by famous poets. I no longer remember the people who did such a compelling job of reading the poetry – yet the words linger in the recesses of my mind and come to my consciousness when I see the beauty recorded in the words of those poets.

Today is the two-hundredth anniversary of the birth of one of my favorite poets Henry Wadsworth Longfellow. Henry Wadsworth Longfellow was born on February 27, 1807, in Portland, Maine. His father, Stephen Longfellow, was a Portland lawyer and congressman, and mother Zilpah, was a descendant of John Alden of the Mayflower. Longfellow was fond of reading and at thirteen he wrote his first poem, "The Battle of Lovell's Pond," which appeared in the Portland Gazette.

In celebration of his birth share with me:

WOODS IN WINTER

When winter winds are piercing chill,
And through the hawthorn blows the gale,
With solemn feet I tread the hill,
That overbrows the lonely vale.

O'er the bare upland, and away
Through the long reach of desert woods,
The embracing sunbeams chastely play,
And gladden these deep solitudes.

Where, twisted round the barren oak,
The summer vine in beauty clung,
And summer winds the stillness broke,
The crystal icicle is hung.

Where, from their frozen urns, mute springs
Pour out the river's gradual tide,
Shrilly the skater's iron rings,
And voices fill the woodland side.

Alas! how changed from the fair scene,
When birds sang out their mellow lay,
And winds were soft, and woods were green,
And the song ceased not with the day!

But still wild music is abroad,
Pale, desert woods! within your crowd;
And gathering winds, in hoarse accord,
Amid the vocal reeds pipe loud.

Chill airs and wintry winds! my ear
Has grown familiar with your song;
I hear it in the opening year,
I listen, and it cheers me long.

Miscellany

2007-02-25T22:08:00.000-05:00

It is snowing outside and I am thinking of spring. Winter is on my head, but eternal spring is in my heart.- Victor Hugo

The gray day has left me without much inspiration s0...
A long long time ago, I was tagged for a meme that suggests I tell you six things about myself. I put my answers in my draft box for a time when blogger would let me post... Guess this is the day. I was tagged by my good blogging friend Kathryn of Knit Together and A Mindful Life so I am going to give it a try...

I can write legibly backwards - I don't remember how or why I learned this skill but none-the-less I still can write backwards.
I own a doll that is five feet tall and another one that is half an inch tall. There are also a lot of dolls that live here with me of various sizes in-between
The top of Mount Ranier is in my dresser drawer (now that is a very long story) but the short version is that my husband brought back a rock from the very top of Mt. Ranier and it is in my treasure drawer.
I collect fashion plates from the 1800's.
I have a miniature (one inch to a foot scale) sheriff's office and jail.
I have climbed to the top of Mount Shasta in Northern California.

So --- I have written out my responses but I am not certain you know much more than you did before. I am not going to tag anyone but I would love to have you let me know if you decide to post your answers on your blog :)

Cloudy Morning

2007-02-22T21:42:00.000-05:00

“Don't knock the weather, nine-tenths of the
people couldn't start a conversation if it
didn't change once in a while.”
- Kin Hubbard

Winter Sky
Blue upon gray, white on blue, more gray
Clouds layered upon cloud layer
– darker still
Tone upon tone
Accented grays and blues
Rapidly moving
Faster and faster still
Before the winter wind.

Storm is coming
Wind carries the word
Clouds post the warning
Here come the dark gray morning blues
Time to stoke up the fire
Heat up the tea
And find a good book.

We got out early for a walk along the D & H (Delaware and Hudson) Canal. We followed the levee from the outskirts of Port Jervis back toward Sparrowbush. The levee was covered with about six inches of crusty packed snow. The trail is seldom used in the wintertime but we could see that before the snow had crusted over a number of other feet had passed along the trail before us. Both sides of the path are lined with tall deciduous trees lifting their barren branches high over our heads. Old wooden power poles have begun to topple. They lie abandoned where they have fallen. The uphill side of the trail still sports bits and pieces of old rock canal wall. We startle a white-tailed deer that bounds up the side hill then stands (as though he thinks we can’t see him) and watches as we pass by below.

Our path seems almost stark as we wander through the trees. As we walk, I realize one of the reasons the landscape seems so stark is that there are no evergreens here. Our yard at home is filled with evergreens, the pines, hemlocks, rhododendrons; even the small evergreen ground cover brings beautiful contrast against the white snow.

Gray squirrels have been digging in the snow. I wonder how they can break through this thick crust to reach down to the acorns and seeds they buried last fall.

The sun only manages to break through the clouds for very short periods of time. A flash of movement draws our eyes and we discover some golden-crowned kinglets flitting through the trees. These active little birds are seldom in one place for more than a moment and they are always a challenge and a joy to watch. I have yet to capture their photo with my camera.
As we head home the storm arrives and flurries of snow begin. By noon it is actively raining. The rain is on again, off again all afternoon. A good day for that warm fire, tea and a book

Beautiful Things

2007-02-21T19:28:00.000-05:00

In the bleak midwinter
Frosty wind made moan,
Earth stood hard as iron,
Water like a stone;
Snow had fallen, snow on snow,
Snow on snow,
In the bleak midwinter,
Long ago.
- Christina Rossetti

Gray winter days are often depressing for me. It is not that I mind the snow. In fact I enjoy watching the snow fall and even delight in the pristine blanket covering the woods and clearing. But there are days when the sun doesn't get a chance to break through the dark clouds. When my loft retreat is dark and gloomy even the electric lights can't seem to chase away the gloom. During these dark days it is tempting to allow dark and gloomy thoughts to fill my mind. On one gloomy gray dark day I found inspiration from a warm steaming cup of tea and a post by Laura at Somewhere In New Jersey
Her list of beautiful things got me to thinking about beautiful things that I see.
A list of some of the beautiful things I saw today:
- My daughter leaning back in her recliner, her face at rest as she contemplates the next steps of her painting
- Ice crystals patterning the windows as the diffused sunlight catches them and sets them to sparkling against a background of dark evergreens or dark gray clouds.
- The chickadee at my window. Always the chickadee brings a smile to my heart as well as to my lips. He is not our most colorful avian visitor but I am attracted to his elegant black and white attire. His sprightly nature and his inquisitive eye watching me warms me as does a visit from a friend. I love sketching the little fellow. Much as I enjoy the Chickadee, it is difficult for me to choose a favorite from the variety of birds that visit each day. Actually it is impossible to choose; each has their own special beauty. The closer we get, the closer I look, the more beauty I see, the more I treasure the daily gift of their presence here outside my window.
- The cream and red stripped amaryllis just opening its first blossom of the year. It has a beauty of its own. There is beauty in its unique blossoms but there is also beauty in that it has returned in my life to bloom for this second year and beauty in its reminder that it came as a gift of love and friendship.
- The sound of water moving through this small canyon, bouncing and splashing over the rocks, foaming its way into pools, lapping against moss and fern covered banks, even the sounds it makes when moving slowing under winter ice and snow. The peaceful soothing sounds, sometimes whispering, other times roaring past, but always bringing new melodies to nurture my soul.

"May the sun bring you new energies by day, may the moon softly restore you by night,
may the rain wash away any worries you may have. May gentle breezes refresh your soul
and all the days of your life, may you walk gently through the world and know its beauty."
- Unknown

Sorry blogger isn't letting me post a photo today

Winter on My Mind

2007-02-20T07:15:00.000-05:00

Morning light is filled with an apricot glow. An elegant morning. As the gray clouds are touched with the light, I find myself longing to be able to capture their beauty on paper.
The filtered sunlight is comforting. Last night’s promised snow did not arrive. Perhaps this afternoon.

Birds are congregating on the deck out of the wind or in sunny places. Their feathers are so fluffed they look like little round balls and twice their normal size. Suet is the food of choice today. There are not a few squabbles for control of the suet feeders. Two tiny chickadees chasing or bluffing away a downy woodpecker.

Finding Water

2007-02-17T11:27:00.000-05:00

Walking through this desert
baren reaches
of my mind

Before me
on my desk
a sharp fat pencil
an open notebook
its blank pages staring up at me.

My chair is comfortable
the winter sun
floods my room
with sunlight

No words
come through
these empty places
in my mind
Buried deep
waiting for spring rain
to blossom
and flourish

Those unspoken dreams
the unmet expectations
the deepest longings
of my soul

I squirm
and wiggle
waiting for
inspiration

Looking out the window
I search the sky for clouds
for rain clouds

Rain with healing moisture
longed for moisture
rain to heal this thirsty soil

The landscape all around
is baren
where are the drops
of morning dew

Water
streams of water
flowing fresh
with inspiration

Searching
I am searching
Is it there?

Joy
anticipation
the hope
the dream of
Finding Water

CEM 2/17/2007 © all rights reserved

More Finding Water posts

Winter Rambling

2007-02-08T16:00:00.000-05:00

Hints of gold and persimmon touch rapidly moving clouds as the sun rises very slowly from behind the snow covered hillside. Soon bright sunlight melts ice patterns from my windows. Clear blue sky – only a cloud here and there. Canada Geese pass in formation overhead. A Bald Eagle Soars on some thermal, drifting slowly above the house. I stand at the skylight watching him until he drifts out of sight over the hills.
When I think of blue sky and clear sunny days the first images and words that come to mind are all of warmth and relaxation but today is frigid and brisk – sharp penetrating winds push and bite when I venture to even stick my head out the door.

All through the woods and clearing different objects capture the sun’s light --- ice on trees, snow hoods on bird feeders, something on the ground… the wind sets them into motion and light beams dance through the loft. Even the metal trim on my pencil sends circles of light moving across the page and up to the ceiling. Bouncing, swaying moving with every letter I write.

Looking up from my writing I discover the Carolina Wren is back today. I watched as he hopped from tree to tree in the side yard, finally alighting on the witch hazel. Moving cautiously to the birdhouse hanging in its barren branches, he poked his head inside, pulled out some bits and pieces --- a little grass, some fluff that could have been some feathers. Eventually he popped through the opening. Then he reappeared and dropped more debris from the open entry. I wonder if this is just a house inspection or if he is planning to move in.
I have been reading all the news about global warming and the comments on the blogs about ways to make a minute contribution…We have the thermostat set low – this is to keep the loft, where I spend most of my time, at a comfortable temperature. So much of the heat rises that it is difficult to find a good balance. Either I have to put on summer clothing when I go up to the loft or the living room and bedroom are so cold I have to grab a coat to stay in them for more than a passing moment… Have to find a solution…
I found a way to put a lot of plastic grocery bags to good use. (They have been filling up a shelf, which I would rather use for storage) Today I took a good portion of them to stuff into tiny cracks along the doors. After folding the bags into quarters lengthwise – I used a table knife to stuff the bags into any crack around the door. Some of the doors are tight. I could only slip the knife into part of the cracks - but any crack at all is letting cold air in today. The back door has a bit larger space and it took fourteen bags to fill all of its cracks.

It is a bit warmer downstairs now but I still put a heating pad into my bed – turned it on about half an hour before I was ready for bed - Toasty!

Chill wind – moon is partly hidden by the clouds as it makes its journey through the sky. All this day I spend much of my time very aware of the weather. I check the thermometers, watch the sun and clouds the ice and snow, and listen to the wind banging the feeders against the house as I turn to sleep.

Midnight Shadows

2007-02-06T19:36:00.000-05:00

Ring around the moon
midnight shadows beaten back
deer in my garden.

Just before eleven, I discovered a small raccoon under the large pole feeders in my back yard. He was licking up sunflower seeds and bits of suet that had fallen from the feeders onto the snow. With such vigorous licking I doubt anything with any food value is left – other than soil.

The moon is nearly full. At moonrise clouds veiled its face; as the clouds open there is a rainbow and a green/gold ring around the moon. At times I see brilliant stars then minutes later the sky is filled with fast moving clouds.

The raccoon has moved to the feeders in the front yard – meandering from one place to another licking up every scrap of suet and seeds to be found. The gray squirrels will be disappointed in the morning!

The moonlight is music to my eyes; it is calling to me to come out and follow its path through the woods. One could easily go for a long walk in this wonderful light. How I wish I could answer its siren call!

Two does wander past the raccoon but he ignores them and they walk on up the hill. I guess they can tell he has already cleaned out the fast food stop.

The clouds cover the moon and I am reminded of a haiku by Matsuo Bashō:

“The clouds
are giving these moon-watchers
a little break.”

more haiku at One Deep Breath Sorry for being the wrong time of day but this is what came out when I began to write.

While Sailing Along and Waiting ...

2007-02-01T20:18:00.000-05:00

While waiting and letting time pass - I have been writing and sketching in a lovely journal that I got while I was ill... Thought I would share some pages with you
The sun doesn't even enter into battle today - even the soft light is slow in coming and so weak that it sill seems like the earth is waiting for the dawn at eight this morning.

The first bird of the day is the inquisitive white-breasted nuthatch --- for a few moments he clings to the side of the windows --- he gives a "yonk" then flies to the feeder. Dropping the first few sunflower seeds to the ground, he continues to sort through the seeds on the tray. Finally, finding a seed that passes his inspection, he flies to a white pine branch where he proceeds to shell and eat his seed.
The gray squirrels are very aggressive again today --- one small chubby squirrel (yes chubby) jumped from the railing of the deck to the front door in an attempt to reach the birdfeeder he saw reflected in the window. He is very persistent--- trying over and over again. I finally had to go outside and look back at the door to see why he continued in what seemed to me a futile exercise --- The heavy cloud cover creates a perfect environment for clear reflections --- no wonder he is persistent - the reflection is so sharp I can see each sunflower seed.

It is so silent! The trees are still - no rain. I can hear the beating of the bird's wings as they pass over my head, and the sounds of their feet as they clutch a branch when coming in to land.

Silently waiting, listening, I hear a chickadee crack and munch a sunflower seed.

As day ends and darkness arrives - the night appears deeper and more impenetrable than usual. Again the influence of the heavy cover of clouds. No glimmer of light from moon or stars. It is only the light crossing the clearing from the headlights of an occasional passing car that breaks the complete darkness.

Winter Snow

2007-01-31T15:08:00.000-05:00

Winter Snow
Finally it has snowed… We have had flurries but yesterday and last night we received our first true winter snow here. Along with the snow The postman brought a new book… I nearly always love any book I order because I have looked it over and know what I am getting before I order --- If you haven’t guessed I have more books than bookshelves so I keep trying to minimize this addiction. This time I ordered a book sight-unseen and I am captivated! You will want to take a look at Letters from Eden by Julie Zickefoose

The Snowstorm
Announced by all the trumpets of the sky,
Arrives the snow, and, driving o'er the fields,
Seems nowhere to alight: the whited air
Hides hills and woods, the river, and the heaven,
And veils the farmhouse at the garden's end.
The sled and traveler stopped, the courier's feet
Delayed, all friends shut out, the housemates sit
Around the radiant fireplace, enclosed
In a tumultuous privacy of storm.

Come see the north wind's masonry.
Out of an unseen quarry evermore
Furnished with tile, the fierce artificer
Curves his white bastions with projected roof
Round every wayward stake, or tree, or door.
Speeding, the myriad-handed, his wild work
So fanciful, so savage, nought cares he
For number or proportion. Mockingly,
On coop or kennel he hangs Parian wreaths;
A swan-like form invests the hidden thorn;
Fills up the farmer's lane from wall to wall,
Maugre the farmer sighs; and, at the gate,
A tapering turret overtops the work.
And when his hours are numbered, and the world
Is all his own, retiring, as he were not,
Leaves, when the sun appears, astonished Art
To mimic in slow structures, stone by stone,
Built in an age, the mad wind's night-work,
The frolic architecture of snow.
--- Ralph Waldo Emerson

Waiting

2006-12-21T08:59:00.000-05:00

Just waiting

- waiting for solutions to internet problems -

- waiting for solutions to blogger problems -

Just sailing along and waiting.

Christmas Carol Meme

2006-12-14T06:53:00.000-05:00

No photo today - thanks to Blogger

I have been tagged by Kerrdelune for this Carol Meme

Having just ventured one of my infrequent trips into the world of commerce --- My first response was “The last thing in the world I want to think about is ‘Christmas’ or ‘Christmas Muzac…..’”
Then I listened to the wonderful sounds of “In the Bleak Midwinter” which Cate posted on her blog, a gift from Joanna Powell Colbert and Craig Olson, and decided to participate.

Particular Favorites

In the Bleak Midwinter ,Christina Rossetti/Gustav Holst (1905)
Joy and Hope by William Zeiller played on the Glass armonica
(click on the links on these particular favorites for samples of the music)

Other Favorites

"O Holy Night" ("Cantique de Noël") composed by Adolphe Adam in 1847 to the French poem "Minuit, chrétiens" by Placide Cappeau (1808-1877)

"Greensleeves" The legend is that it was composed by King Henry VIII of England (1491-1547) for his future queen consort Anne Boleyn.

"Carol of the Bells" (also known as the "Ukrainian Bell Carol") was adapted from "Shchedryk" by Mykola Dmytrovych Leontovych

"Angels We Have Heard on High" The words of the song are based on a traditional French carol known as Les Anges dans nos Campagnes (literally, The Angels in our Countryside). Its most common English version was translated in 1862 by James Chadwick.It is most commonly sung to the hymn tune "Gloria", as arranged by Edward Shippen Barnes.

Absolutely Not ….
This category is open -
there are far too many to list but they are made up of the sounds that fill the marketplace begining the first day of November (if not sooner)

Close Up (Close, Closer, Closest)

2006-12-06T17:16:00.000-05:00

Winter arriving

chickadee at my window

my heart is warmed

There are times and places where we stand awestruck

For Endment and Harmony - this is the time and place

For more close looks at poetry and haiku check out One Deep Breath

Photographs were taken at Elizabeth A Morton Wildlife Refuge

Winter and Fall

2006-12-03T23:09:00.000-05:00

"I prefer winter and fall, when you feel the bone structure of the
landscape - the loneliness of it, the dead feeling of winter.
Something waits beneath it, the whole story doesn't show. "
- Andrew Wyeth

Things That I Love

2006-12-01T20:36:00.000-05:00

This is my response to a invitation from Harmony to participate in a meme
TEN THINGS THAT I LOVE
1. Walking on the beach on a warm (not hot) day
2. Sharp pencils and fresh crisp paper – some inspiration is nice also
3. Winter birding at Bentson–Rio Grande Valley State Park,Texas
4. September at Waterton Lakes National Park
5. Steaming Rooibos Tea with English Shortbread (A friend is always a welcome addition)
6. My new Roma Lussa leather journal which I got for my birthday (Even though I haven’t had the courage to make even one single mark in it as yet)
7. Listening to Dreamer by Michael Hoppe (This goes well with almost any activity)
8. Lené or kerrdelune’s blogs – A wonderful way to begin my day
9. Taking a sharp clear photo of a bird
10. Curling up in a corner and reading a really interesting book

I'm not going to tag anyone but I invite you to participate and post your link in my comment box

Solitude Late at Night in the Woods

2006-11-30T11:08:00.000-05:00

The body is like a November birch facing the full moon
And reaching into the cold heavens.
In these trees there is no ambition, no sodden body, no leaves,
Nothing but bare trunks climbing like cold fire!

My last walk in the trees has come. At dawn
I must return to the trapped fields,
To the obedient earth.
The trees shall be reaching all the winter.

It is a joy to walk in the bare woods.
The moonlight is not broken by the heavy leaves.
The leaves are down, and touching the soaked earth,
Giving off the odors that partridges love.
- Robert Bly

Winter Reflections

2006-11-27T21:26:00.000-05:00

Afternoon at Stokes Forest

Evening at Rio Dam

Self portrait

A quiet winter morning at Bashakill Marsh

Reflections - "The world is a looking-glass,

and gives back to every man

the reflection of his own face.

Frown at it, and it in turn

will look sourly upon you;

laugh at it

and with it,

and it is a jolly kind companion."

---William Makepeace Thackery

November

2006-11-26T11:04:00.000-05:00

So dull and dark are the November days.
The lazy mist high up the evening curled,
And now the morn quite hides in smoke and haze;
The place we occupy seems all the world.
- John Clare

For Kerrdelune

2006-11-11T09:14:00.000-05:00

Congratultions on the anniversary
of your entry into the "Realm of Blog"
May your light long shine
and illuminate the Realm.

Happy Anniversary Beyond The Fields We Know

Poetry Snapshot - Illustrating a Poem

2006-11-09T14:06:00.000-05:00

Poetry Thursday suggests today to post a poetry snapshot...

What is Poetry?
This is the question I asked myself when I thought about capturing a poem with my camera.
After contemplating the question for some time, I resorted to an internet search and came away even less certain that I can define poetry :)

These words from Robert Frost help a bit:
"A poem begins with a lump in the throat, a home-sickness or a love-sickness. It is a reaching-out toward expression; an effort to find fulfillment. A complete poem is one where the emotion has found its thought and the thought has found the words."

What is it
That provides the inspiration
For a poem?

The solitude
the light of breaking dawn
or eventide?

Is it the silence of the night
the sound of wind
rustling through each tree?

A golden autumn leaf on its
circuitous journey
to the ground?

A lovers kiss
A canopy of stars
or contemplation of the moon?

In thinking on these things
I find
I do not know
Do you?
© November 9, 2006

Drifting

2006-11-08T12:03:00.000-05:00

A cold and rainy day
and I am just drifting.

"The day is cold, and dark, and dreary;
It rains, and the wind is never weary;
The vine still clings to the mouldering wall,
But at every gust the dead leaves fall,
And the day is dark and dreary."
- Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, The Rainy Day

Fog in November

2006-11-07T09:07:00.000-05:00

Fog in November, trees have no heads,
Streams only sound, walls suddenly stop
Half-way up hills, the ghost of a man spreads
Dung on dead fields for next year's crop.
I cannot see my hand before my face,
My body does not seem to be my own,
The world becomes a far-off, foreign place,
People are strangers, houses silent, unknown.
- Leonard Clark

Birder Survey - Photos

2006-11-06T14:35:00.000-05:00

Photos to go with Birder Survey - had to post them separately

Immature Black Guillemot picture taken off the coast of Acadia, Maine a couple of weeks ago.
Yellow-rumped Warbler posing on the deck on Sunday

Birder Survey

2006-11-05T07:59:00.000-05:00

Have some photos but Blogger won't let me post them today - Sorry

What state (or country) do you live in? NY, USA
How long have you been birding? 45+ years but I have only been keeping a life list since the early 1990’s
Are you a "lister"? I didn’t think so but discovered that we regularly make lists on birding trips
ABA Life List: 430
Overall Life List: ?
3 Favorite Birding Spots: Jamaica Bay Wildlife Refuge, NY; Bentsen Rio Grande State Park, Texas; Desoto or LaSalle Wildlife Refuge, Iowa/Nebraska
Favorite birding spot outside your home country: Point Pelee, Ontario, Canada
Farthest you've traveled to chase a rare bird: There are so many left to see that I really haven’t gone bird chasing.
Nemesis bird: Probably a Northern Saw-whet Owl – we hear them but I have never seen one.
"Best" bird sighting: Blue Bunting at trailer loop camp #9 Bentsen Rio Grande State Park, Texas
Most wanted trip: Back to Waterton Lakes or a pelagic trip
Most wanted bird: For the moment- an Atlantic Puffin
What model and brand of bins do you use?: Whichever ones are handy but most frequently Bausch & Lomb because they are light weight
What model and brand of scope do you use?: Haven’t chosen one yet.
What was the last lifer you added to your list?: Black Guillemot
Where did you see your last lifer?: Acadia Park, Maine
What's the last bird you saw today?: Yellow-Rumped Warbler
Best bird song you've heard ever: Wood Thrush or California Thrasher
Favorite birding moment: First trip to South Texas - Sitting at a picnic table in Bentsen Rio Grande State Park and adding twenty birds to my life list in only a couple of hours.
Least favorite thing about birding: Bugs and those birders who blow smoke at me --- oh yes – poison ivy.
Favorite thing about birding: Seeing a new bird
Favorite field guide for the US: This is difficult – there are things I like about several but would love to combine them into one book ( I guess Petersons and National Geographic)
Favorite non-field guide bird book: Possibly a guide to birding sites but my bookshelves are so full I can’t pick.
Who is your birder icon: Can’t think of one unless it is John Muir
Do you have a bird feeder(s)? Yes
Favorite feeder bird? I really don’t think I have a favorite but the chickadees and nuthatches do entertain me greatly.

I invite you to also participate in this survey ---Please copy and paste your responses in the comments or post this on your blog.
Got this from Laura over at Somewhere in New Jersey

Autumn Abundance

2006-10-30T11:28:00.000-05:00

"One is constantly reminded of the infinite lavishness and fertility of Nature -- inexhaustible abundance amid what seems enormous waste. And yet when we look into any of her operations that lie within reach of our minds, we learn that no particle of her material is wasted or worn out. It is eternally flowing from use to use, beauty to yet higher beauty; and we soon cease to lament waste and death, and rather rejoice and exult in the imperishable, unspendable wealth of the universe, and faithfully watch and wait the reappearance of everything that melts and fades and dies about us, feeling sure that its next appearance will be better and more beautiful than the last. " ---- John Muir

Poetry Thursday - Exploring "October"

2006-10-26T12:35:00.000-04:00

October by Madison Cawein

I oft have met her slowly wandering
Beside a leafy stream, her locks blown wild,
Her cheeks a hectic flush, more fair than Spring,
As if on her the sumach copse had smiled.
Or I have seen her sitting, tall and brown,--
Her gentle eyes with foolish weeping dim,--
Beneath a twisted oak from whose red leaves
She wound great drowsy wreaths and cast them down;
The west-wind in her hair, that made it swim
Far out behind, deep as the rustling sheaves.

Or in the hill-lands I have often seen
The marvel of her passage; glimpses faint
Of glimmering woods that glanced the hills between,
Like Indian faces, fierce with forest paint.
Or I have met her 'twixt two beechen hills,
Within a dingled valley near a fall,
Held in her nut-brown hand one cardinal flower;
Or wading dimly where the leaf-dammed rills
Went babbling through the wildwood's arrased hall,
Where burned the beech and maples glared their power.

Or I have met her by some ruined mill,
Where trailed the crimson creeper, serpentine,
On fallen leaves that stirred and rustled chill,
And watched her swinging in the wild-grape vine.
While Beauty, sad among the vales and mountains,
More sad than death, or all that death can teach,
Dreamed of decay and stretched appealing arms,
Where splashed the murmur of the forest's fountains;
With all her loveliness did she beseech,
And all the sorrow of her wildwood charms.

Once only in a hollow, girt with trees,
A-dream amid wild asters filled with rain,
I glimpsed her cheeks red-berried by the breeze,
In her dark eyes the night's sidereal stain.
And once upon an orchard's tangled path,
Where all the goldenrod had turned to brown,
Where russets rolled and leaves were sweet of breath,
I have beheld her 'mid her aftermath
Of blossoms standing, in her gypsy gown,
Within her gaze the deeps of life and death.

Explore more poetry about time and place with Poetry Thursday

Looking at Nature

2006-10-25T13:34:00.000-04:00

"Everybody needs beauty as well as bread,
places to play in and pray in,
where nature may heal
and give strength to body and soul alike."
--- John Muir

For Harmony --- Get well soon Harmony

Haiku - Mist

2006-10-23T10:43:00.000-04:00

Trying to vanquish
drifting early morning mist
the sun peeks through

For more poetry
One Deep Breath

Late October

2006-10-22T11:45:00.000-04:00

I found ten kinds of wild flowers growing
On a steely day that looked like snowing:
Queen Anne’s lace, and blue heal-all,
A buttercup, straggling, grown too tall,
A rusty aster, a chicory flower ---
Ten I found in half an hour.
The air was blurred with dry leaves flying,
Gold and scarlet, gaily dying.
A squirrel ran off with a nut in his mouth,
And always, always, flying south,
Twittering, the birds went by
Flickering sharp against the sky,
Some in great bows, some in wedges,
Some in bands with wavering edges,
Flocks and flocks were flying over
With the north wind for their drover.
“Flowers,” I said, “you’d better go,
Surely it’s coming on for snow,” ---
They did not heed me, nor heed the birds,
Twittering thin, far-fallen words ---
The others thought of tomorrow, but they
Only remembered yesterday.
---- Sara Teasdale

After reading the Sara Teasdale poem "Late October" I grabbed my camera, wandered down the stairs and began exploring - trying to see those "flowers of Late October."

At the back edge of the property, nearly hidden in the russet bracken ferns and tall pines, I discovered a huge clump of monkshood in full bloom... It has ignored the frost, wind and rain and blooms as though it were expecting spring.
In the middle of our small pond a waterlily bud is hoping for one more sunny day so it can burst into bloom before winter arrives.

A Vagabond Song

2006-10-19T13:16:00.000-04:00

There is something in the autumn that is native to my blood ---
Touch of manner, hint of mood;
And my heart is like a rhyme,
With the yellow and crimson keeping time.

The scarlet of the maples can shake me like a cry
Of bugles going by.
And my lonely spirit thrills
To see the frosty asters like a smoke upon the hills.

There is something in October sets the gypsy blood astir;
We must rise and follow her,
When from every hill of flame
She calls and calls each vagabond by name.
---- Bliss Carman

Hiatus

2006-09-19T10:56:00.000-04:00

Oh, these vast, calm, measureless mountain days,
inciting at once to work and rest!
Days in whose light everything seems equally divine,
opening a thousand windows to show us God.
Nevermore, however weary, should one faint by the way
who gains the blessings of one mountain day;
whatever his fate,
long life, short life, stormy or calm, he is rich forever.

--- John Muir

I am going to take a break and hope that Blogger will be working better in a couple of weeks!!!!!

Every Path Hath a Puddle

2006-09-13T14:48:00.000-04:00

Sun breaks through the mist and rain to illuminate my day.
... like a grain of fire

God plants His undivided power

Buries His thought too vast for worlds

In seed and root and blade and flower...

--- Thomas Merton

Solitude - One Deep Breath

2006-09-05T18:38:00.000-04:00

Morning solitude
Autumn spreading her colors
Warblers passing through

For more Haiku visit One Deep Breath

A Poem in My Pocket

2006-08-31T19:10:00.000-04:00

For several years there has been a poem that I keep in my notebook - which frequently is the only thing even slightly resembling a pocket that I carry around with me. It has a copyright so I am simply going to provide you with the link... The Unwritten by W. S. Merwin.

For More Poetry Thursday

Silence

2006-08-27T12:27:00.000-04:00

Momentary hush
resounding as the thunder
bringing sudden death

Cooper's Hawk

Serenade

2006-08-21T20:49:00.000-04:00

Morning serenade
drifting through my slumber
Wren at my window

One Deep Breath Sound of Music

Terse Verse

2006-08-19T10:18:00.000-04:00

open door

reveals
chaos

rummaging for a
midnight snack

Coffee or Tea

2006-08-17T12:06:00.000-04:00

Fragrant aromas
mixed with sympathetic friendship
morning perfection

For more poetry visit One Deep Breath

August Words

2006-08-10T13:30:00.000-04:00

Wanted - August Words

I have been searching
high and low
under the beds,
in my drawers
even through my important papers
I have scratched my head
and searched my thoughts
but
nowhere can I find the words….

Words …
they are special words I need
not the words of daily language
but words
to describe a glorious August day

Oh for the words to share
the thoughts and feelings that come
after weeks of sweltering heat
a cleansing rain
and a morning of
clear blue skies
decorated with whisps of soft clouds.

The sun’s rays are more gentle today
they set the woods to glowing
I do not miss the sizzling heat of yesterday
I revel in the breeze coming through my open window

There is a quiet in the house
air conditioners and fans have been shut off
there is a forgotten joy in pulling up a comforter
to ward of the chill of early morning.
I can relish the bugling of the blue jays
as they greet the day

The air is filled with music of the cardinal,
the chickadee, nuthatch, goldfinch and titmouse
I hear the buzzing of the bumblebee
and even the twittering of the hummingbirds
as they move from monardia to late foxglove blossoms.

A thousand greens fill the woodland
providing a backdrop for the rich glory of August
Goldenrod, Queen Anne’s Lace,
Oh for the words
I would write a song
or perhaps a poem
a day such as this
seems to call for a sonnet.

How I would love to tell you
the beauties of this day
if only I had
the words!

8/5/2006

2006-08-08T06:16:00.000-04:00

There is a pleasure in the pathless woods,
There is a rapture on the lonely shore
There is a society where none intrudes,
By the deep sea and music in its roar:
I love not man the less, but nature more.
--Lord Byron

Curious Neighbor

2006-08-05T00:46:00.000-04:00

Soft gentle creature of the night
how silently you move
naught but a silhouette
drifting beneath the moon.

What delight to catch a glimpse
of your fleeting shadow
from my window
as you nibble seeds
at my feeder.

I search the woods in vain
For your abiding place
Do you nest in a hollow tree?
Is your home snug beneath a dark branch?
Where is your hidden nest?

We seldom pass
you a night wanderer
and I a creature of the light.
Yet today we share an unexpected meeting

We stare at one another
in curious wonder
I see your big eyes
your long whiskers
and soft gray-brown fur.

In daylight
We meet as shy neighbors
and I treasure
the knowing
that you live close by me.

Southern Flying Squirrel Glaucomys volans
For more about the Flying_squirrel

Bees & Sunflowers

2006-08-03T23:43:00.000-04:00

The hum of bees is the voice of the garden. - Elizabeth Lawrence
"The honey-bee's great ambition is to be rich, to lay up great stores, to possess the sweet of every flower that blooms. She is more than provident. Enough will not satisfy her,
she must have all she can get by hook or crook." - John Burroughs

For to the bee a flower is a fountain if life
And to the flower a bee is a messenger of love
And to both, bee and flower,
the giving and the receiving is a need and an ecstasy.
- Kahlil Gibran

August Heat

2006-08-01T12:23:00.000-04:00

"What dreadful hot weather we have!

It keeps me in a continual state of inelegance."

- Jane Austen

Heat ----
Last winter I thought of the beauties of a warm summer day --- The garden overflowing with vegetables and flowers – water sparkling in the pond. Today I am grateful for a roof over my head, for the air conditioner and a cool place to sit out of the reach of the sunshine. How I feel for the poor woodland creatures – they come early to search for tidbits around the yard then head for the deep woods where they find shade to lay down and pant and wait for the cool of evening. I sit inside and pant and also long for the cool of evening.

August rushes by like desert rainfall,
A flood of frenzied upheaval,
Expected,
But still catching me unprepared.
Like a matchflame
Bursting on the scene,
Heat and haze of crimson sunsets.
Like a dream
Of moon and dark barely recalled,
A moment,
Shadows caught in a blink.
Like a quick kiss;
One wishes for more
But it suddenly turns to leave,
Dragging summer away.
- Elizabeth Maua Taylor

Don't know what is happening

2006-07-31T19:20:00.000-04:00

All of us here are just trying to keep cool!

I have no idea whether this will show up on some of your screens or not... But I will try to send a message out into the blog-o-sphere ---

When I try to open my blog, all I get is a background color. I guess if you see this something different must be happening at your end.

Thanks for all your kind words -

I have no idea when or whether my blog will work. If I can get things sorted out --- I will try to post again

Things are so Technical

2006-07-17T22:57:00.000-04:00

Cool?

2006-07-14T16:17:00.000-04:00

Underneath the leaves

catching the summer raindrops

from garden sprinklers

Poetry Thursday - A Laughing Matter???

2006-07-13T07:23:00.000-04:00

Since photos won't load today --- please visualize this on your computer monitor.

How I wish these were my own words - so many of them so fitly describe my recent experiences ---

Abort, Retry, Ignore?
by Anonymous Works

Once upon a midnight dreary, fingers cramped and vision bleary,
System manuals piled high and wasted paper on the floor,
Longing for the warmth of bed sheets, still I sat there doing spreadsheets.
Having reached the bottom line I took a floppy from the drawer,
I then invoked the SAVE command and waited for the disk to store,
Only this and nothing more.

Deep into the monitor peering, long I sat there wond'ring, fearing,
Doubting, while the disk kept churning, turning yet to churn some more.
But the silence was unbroken, and the stillness gave no token.
"Save!" I said, "You cursed mother! Save my data from before!"
One thing did the phosphors answer, only this and nothing more,
Just, "Abort, Retry, Ignore?"

Was this some occult illusion, some maniacal intrusion?
These were choices undesired, ones I'd never faced before.
Carefully I weighed the choices as the disk made impish noises.
The cursor flashed, insistent, waiting, baiting me to type some more.
Clearly I must press a key, choosing one and nothing more,
From "Abort, Retry, Ignore?"

With fingers pale and trembling, slowly toward the keyboard bending,
Longing for a happy ending, hoping all would be restored,
Praying for some guarantee, timidly, I pressed a key.
But on the screen there still persisted words appearing as before.
Ghastly grim they blinked and taunted, haunted, as my patience wore,
Saying "Abort, Retry, Ignore?"

I tried to catch the chips off guard, and pressed again, but twice as hard.
I pleaded with the cursed machine: I begged and cried and then I swore.
Now in mighty desperation, trying random combinations,
Still there came the incantation, just as senseless as before.
Cursor blinking, angrily winking, blinking nonsense as before.
Reading, "Abort, Retry, Ignore?"

There I sat, distraught, exhausted, by my own machine accosted.
Getting up I turned away and paced across the office floor.
And then I saw a dreadful sight: a lightning bolt cut through the night.
A gasp of horror overtook me, shook me to my very core.
The lightning zapped my previous data, lost and gone forevermore.
Not even, "Abort, Retry, Ignore?"

To this day I do not know the place to which lost data go.
What demonic nether world us wrought where lost data will be stored,
Beyond the reach of mortal souls, beyond the ether, into black holes?
But sure as there's C, Pascal, Lotus, Ashton-Tate and more,
You will be one day be left to wander, lost on some Plutonian shore,
Pleading, "Abort, Retry, Ignore?"

For more poetry and humor see Poetry Thursday

Endment

Christmas Bells

Things to do on a December Day When There is No Water

More Geese

Hunter's Morning

Anniversary of the Gettysburg Address

Winter Trees

Winter Lace

One Leaf

"One leaf left on a branchand not a sound of sadnessor despair. One leaf lefton a branch and no unhappiness.One leaf left all by itselfin the air and it does not speakof loneliness or death.One leaf and it spends itselfin swaying mildly in the breeze." - David Ignatow

Luna Moth

Spring

Thinking Spring

2011

Frosted

WoodSong --- Great Textures

Time for Reflection

Spring

Winter Sunshine

Winter at Olana

Happy Holiday

Oh Is it July?

Unknown Moth

The Winter of the Siskins

Today is the Day

Just checking to see if Spring has arrived yet

Aging

Kody

Wordless Wednesday - View from the front door

Wordless Wednesday - Eastern Gray Squirrel

Of Winter Days and Ducks

Soaring with Eagles

Thankfulness

Cold Autumn

O'Keeffe - Remembering her day of birth

Wonder

Celebration

Leaves

Mourning Doves

If

Thinking of Australia or New Zealand

Things That Keep Me Occupied

Holiday Thoughts

Seven Random Things Meme

Upon Waking

Brown? Gray?

Thinking of Autumn

No Words

A Ribbon of Moonlight

October Rain

Sunshine on a Cloudy Morning

Autumn Visitor

October

Scrambling

Celebrate

Miscellany

Cloudy Morning

Beautiful Things

Winter on My Mind

Finding Water

Winter Rambling

Midnight Shadows

While Sailing Along and Waiting ...

Winter Snow

Waiting

Christmas Carol Meme

Close Up (Close, Closer, Closest)

Winter and Fall

Things That I Love

Solitude Late at Night in the Woods

Winter Reflections

November

For Kerrdelune

Poetry Snapshot - Illustrating a Poem

Drifting

Fog in November

Birder Survey - Photos

Birder Survey

Autumn Abundance

Poetry Thursday - Exploring "October"

"One leaf left on a branch
and not a sound of sadness
or despair. One leaf left
on a branch and no unhappiness.
One leaf left all by itself
in the air and it does not speak
of loneliness or death.
One leaf and it spends itself
in swaying mildly in the breeze."
- David Ignatow