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.