Saturday, December 15, 2012
Friday, December 14, 2012
Imagine those crystals that formed over night on this one piece of grass being multiplied a million times over. But get up early; just one hour later you would have missed the show.
Thursday, December 13, 2012
...Up spoke our own little Mabel,
Saying, “Father, who makes it snow?”
And I told of the good All-father
Who cares for us here below.
Again I looked at the snow-fall,
And thought of the leaden sky
That arched o’er our first great sorrow,
When that mound was heaped so high.
I remembered the gradual patience
That fell from that cloud like snow,
Flake by flake, healing and hiding
The scar that renewed our woe.
And again to the child I whispered,
“The snow that husheth all,
Darling, the merciful Father
Alone can make it fall!”
Then, with eyes that saw not, I kissed her;
And she, kissing back, could not know
That my kiss was given to her sister,
Folded close under deepening snow.
The First Snow-Fall by James Russell Lowell
Wednesday, December 12, 2012
Nuthatches eat a wide variety of things; seeds and insects. They love to eat at feeders where they enjoy peanut butter if left out.
Tuesday, December 11, 2012
The first snow is always so magical and pretty. It won't be so pretty come March, when we're winter weary.
Monday, December 10, 2012
I see more opossums in the day light hours of winter than other seasons. But, unlike most animals, they never stay in one spot for very long.
Saturday, December 8, 2012
But the research has put a fright in me---apparently there are just as many things, if not more, that threaten our trees as threaten humans. And we humans help spread the pests and disease at an alarming rate; albeit unwittingly. Firewood for fireplaces and campfires should not be moved except under the utmost caution.
It would be nice to have a national alert system where people could go to see what kind of pests and disease are attacking in their area and what they can do to help.
Friday, December 7, 2012
Thursday, December 6, 2012
Wednesday, December 5, 2012
Vengeful across the cold November moors,
Loud with ancestral shame there came the bleak
Sad wind that shrieked, and answered with a shriek,
Reverberant through lonely corridors.
The old man heard it; and he heard, perforce,
Words out of lips that were no more to speak
Words of the past that shook the old man’s cheek
Like dead, remembered footsteps on old floors.
And then there were the leaves that plagued him so!
The brown, thin leaves that on the stones outside
Skipped with a freezing whisper. Now and then
They stopped, and stayed there—just to let him know
How dead they were; but if the old man cried,
They fluttered off like withered souls of men.
The Pity of the Leaves II
by Edwin Arlington Robinson
Tuesday, December 4, 2012
Monday, December 3, 2012
Saturday, December 1, 2012
She, however was not interested in this gentleman for reasons unknown. The couple were soon in a tiny paw fight and each swam off in opposite directions chattering at each other.
After a short while, it was only the gentleman, back, quietly eating the weeds at the side of the pond.
Friday, November 30, 2012
Thursday, November 29, 2012
My sorrow, when she’s here with me,
Thinks these dark days of autumn rain
Are beautiful as days can be;
She loves the bare, the withered tree;
She walks the sodden pasture lane.
Her pleasure will not let me stay.
She talks and I am fain to list:
She’s glad the birds are gone away,
She’s glad her simple worsted gray
Is silver now with clinging mist.
The desolate, deserted trees,
The faded earth, the heavy sky,
The beauties she so truly sees,
She thinks I have no eye for these,
And vexes me for reason why.
Not yesterday I learned to know
The love of bare November days
Before the coming of the snow,
But it were vain to tell her so,
And they are better for her praise.
My November Guest by Robert Frost
Wednesday, November 28, 2012
Tuesday, November 27, 2012
The answer may be in another blog I follow or then again, it may not. The mystery continues but whether bird or insect or both are to blame, you would have to agree that this tree surely is a conversation piece?
Monday, November 26, 2012
Friday, November 23, 2012
Thunder our thanks to her guns, hearts, and lips!
Cheer from the ranks to her,
Shout from the banks to her—
Mayflower! Foremost and best of our ships.
Mayflower! Twice in the national story
Thy dear name in letters of gold—
Woven in texture that never grows old—
Winning a home and winning glory!
Sailing the years to us, welcomed for aye;
Cherished for centuries, dearest to-day.
Every heart throbs for her, every flag dips—
Mayflower! First and last, best of our ships.
White as a seagull, she swept the long passage.
True as the homing-bird flies with its message.
Love her? O, richer than silk every sail of her.
Trust her? More precious than gold every nail of her.
Write we down faithfully every man’s part in her;
Greet we all gratefully every true heart in her.
More than a name to us, sailing the fleetest,
Symbol of that which is purest and sweetest:
More than a keel to us, steering the straightest,
Emblem of that which is freest and greatest:
More than a dove-bosomed sail to the windward,
Flame passing on while the night-clouds fly hindward.
Kiss every plank of her! None shall take rank of her;
Frontward or weatherward, none can eclipse.
Thunder our thanks to her! Cheer from the banks to her!
Mayflower! Foremost and best of our ships!
Mayflower by John Boyle O'Reilly
Thursday, November 22, 2012
Wednesday, November 21, 2012
Tuesday, November 20, 2012
Monday, November 19, 2012
It isn't likely that it will find a friend this late in the season. It was healthy and could fly, so perhaps it will migrate to a warmer clime.
Saturday, November 17, 2012
Friday, November 16, 2012
Thursday, November 15, 2012
Normally deer will run off. Sometimes you get one that will only wander off. This guy stood in the middle of the trail and hissed.
He wasn't moving. Every time I moved, he would stand tall and hiss. Sometimes he would move towards me as if to challenge.
I turned around and went back the way I had come. He was bigger and more obstinate than I.
Wednesday, November 14, 2012
Take me in your whirl,
In your giddy reel,
In your shot-like leaps and flights.
Hear me call—stop and hear.
I know you, blusterer; I know you, wild one—
I know your mysterious call.
Storm by Max Michelson
Tuesday, November 13, 2012
It was a warm November Day and he was a baby fighting his winter nap---putting it off for another day.
Monday, November 12, 2012
The rain caught up with me on my hike out; a day full of this amazing earth and a reminder that the troubles of man are really so small after all.
Saturday, November 10, 2012
Friday, November 9, 2012
Thursday, November 8, 2012
A lone gray bird,
Alone in the shadows and grandeurs and tumults
Of night and the sea
And the stars and storms.
Out over the darkness it wavers and hovers,
Out into the gloom it swings and batters,
Out into the wind and the rain and the vast,
Out into the pit of a great black world,
Where fogs are at battle, sky-driven, sea-blown,
Love of mist and rapture of flight,
Glories of chance and hazards of death
On its eager and palpitant wings.
Out into the deep of the great dark world,
Beyond the long borders where foam and drift
Of the sundering waves are lost and gone
On the tides that plunge and rear and crumble.
From the Shore by Carl Sandburg
Wednesday, November 7, 2012
Tuesday, November 6, 2012
Hurricane Sandy's foot print was so large that she reached as far inland as the southern shores of Lake Michigan where she moved so much of the dune sand that a different beach is here for us to explore.
Monday, November 5, 2012
Visitors to the park can help with the effort by following the park signs that state which trails are for park staff only. A pair of hiking shoes can contain thousands of tiny seeds that can bring invasives back into the bog cycle.
A giant dune, a mountain of movable sand, can be seen in the distance of this picture.
Saturday, November 3, 2012
Friday, November 2, 2012
Thursday, November 1, 2012
As one dark morn I trod a forest glade,
A sunbeam enter’d at the further end,
And ran to meet me thro’ the yielding shade
As one, who in the distance sees a friend,
And, smiling, hurries to him; but mine eyes,
Bewilder’d by the change from dark to bright,
Receiv’d the greeting with a quick surprise
At first, and then with tears of pure delight;
For sad my thoughts had been—the tempest’s wrath
Had gloom’d the night, and made the morrow gray;
That heavenly guidance humble sorrow hath,
Had turn’d my feet into that forest-way,
Just when His morning light came down the path,
Among the lonely woods at early day.
Charles Tennyson Turner---The Forest Glade
Wednesday, October 31, 2012
Saturday, October 20, 2012
Friday, October 19, 2012
Thursday, October 18, 2012
The child's wonder
At the old moon
Comes back nightly.
She points her finger
To the far silent yellow thing
Shining through the branches
Filtering on the leaves a golden sand,
Crying with her little tongue, “See the moon!”
And in her bed fading to sleep
With babblings of the moon on her little mouth.
Carl Sandburg---Child's Moon
Wednesday, October 17, 2012
Tuesday, October 16, 2012
Monday, October 15, 2012
Saturday, October 13, 2012
Friday, October 12, 2012
Thursday, October 11, 2012
Wednesday, October 10, 2012
She sweeps with many-colored brooms,
And leaves the shreds behind;
Oh, housewife in the evening west,
Come back, and dust the pond!
You dropped a purple ravelling in,
You dropped an amber thread;
And now you ’ve littered all the East
With duds of emerald!
And still she plies her spotted brooms,
And still the aprons fly,
Till brooms fade softly into stars—
And then I come away.
Emily Dickinson from Part Two: Nature