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Poetry Sunday: Spring by Edna St. Vincent Millay

This poem caught my eye last week for its line "Not only under ground are the brains of men eaten by maggots." Somehow it seemed particularly apropos for the events of the week. Edna St. Vincent Millay certainly had April's number - a month that "Comes like an idiot, babbling and strewing flowers." After all, what does April care about the silly affairs of humans? Spring by Edna St. Vincent Millay To what purpose, April, do you return again? Beauty is not enough. You can no longer quiet me with the redness Of little leaves opening stickily. I know what I know. The sun is hot on my neck as I observe The spikes of the crocus. The smell of the earth is good. It is apparent that there is no death. But what does that signify? Not only under ground are the brains of men Eaten by maggots. Life in itself Is nothing, An empty cup, a flight of uncarpeted stairs. It is not enough that yearly, down this hill, April Comes like an idiot, babbling and strewing flowers.

This week in birds - #629

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  A roundup of the week's news of birds and the environment : This is a rather plain bird with a beautiful song. It is the Veery , a member of the thrush family. It passes through Texas on migration and moves on to breed primarily along the border between Canada and the United States, although it can be found breeding all the way south to Georgia. Like many species, it is threatened by forest loss and fragmentation. *~*~*~* Something bad is happening along the southern California coast as hundreds of sick or dead sea mammals wash up on its shores. There has also been erratic behavior, including attacks on humans. Sea mammal specialists suspect toxic algae poisoning of being the cause. *~*~*~* And in the human world, toxicity of another kind has led the nation's top vaccine scientist to resign his position just as we are facing a potential measles epidemic that would have been totally preventable by vaccine. *~*~*~* And, confirming the adage that it never rains but it pours,...

Poetry Sunday: Spring and All: III [The farmer in deep thought] by William Carlos Williams

My father was a farmer. This poem makes me think of him. How often I  have seen him pacing his fields - "the artist figure of the farmer" - in early spring as, in his mind, he is composing and he sees the fields already planted... Spring and All: III [The farmer in deep thought] BY William Carlos Williams The farmer in deep thought is pacing through the rain among his blank fields, with hands in pockets, in his head the harvest already planted. A cold wind ruffles the water among the browned weeds. On all sides the world rolls coldly away : black orchards darkened by the March clouds — leaving room for thought. Down past the brushwood bristling by the rainsluiced wagonroad looms the artist figure of the farmer — composing — antagonist.

This week in birds - #628

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  A roundup of the week's news of birds and the environment : A bird that nests in the salt and brackish marshes of the Atlantic and Gulf Coasts of the United States, the well-named Seaside Sparrow appears to be holding its own, with a stable population. Its range reaches all the way from southern New Hampshire to southern Texas, and that range is home to at least seven distinct subspecies of the bird. It is the American Bird Conservancy's Bird of the Week. *~*~*~* Measles is making a comeback in West Texas and is spreading to other communities. It's not a good time to be an anti-vaxxer . *~*~*~* Spring migration is well underway and Journey North has some reports from the field. *~*~*~* One of the byproducts of Russia's invasion of Ukraine has been a deadly spill of oil on the Black Sea.  *~*~*~* Hummingbirds are on their way and although I know they have reached my area I haven't seen any in my yard yet. But my feeders are stocked and waiting. *~*~*~* Off the ...

Poetry Sunday: The Moment by Margaret Atwood

I love this poem by Margaret Atwood. It is a timely reminder that we truly "own" nothing here. We are visitors only and Earth will surely continue when we are gone. And it is incumbent on us to do what we can to preserve what is here for those who follow us. The Moment by Margaret Atwood The moment when, after many years of hard work and a long voyage you stand in the centre of your room, house, half-acre, square mile, island, country, knowing at last how you got there, and say, I own this, is the same moment when the trees unloose their soft arms from around you, the birds take back their language, the cliffs fissure and collapse, the air moves back from you like a wave and you can't breathe. No, they whisper. You own nothing. You were a visitor, time after time climbing the hill, planting the flag, proclaiming. We never belonged to you. You never found us. It was always the other way round.

This week in birds - #627

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  A roundup of the week's news of birds and the environment : This is the wonderful Whimbrel , a bird of the coasts of North, Central, and South American. It is a prodigious flyer that may travel as much as 2,500 miles in migration. I have frequently encountered it on autumn birding trips along the shores of the Gulf of Mexico. It is the American Bird Conservancy's Bird of the Week .  *~*~*~* When those NASA astronauts splashed down earlier this week, they had a special welcoming committee - a pod of curious dolphins .  *~*~*~* Unfortunately, much of the news of the environment this week emanates from Washington and the new administration there as it continues its slash and burn takeover of government agencies. One action was to plan the closure of the Global Monitoring Laboratory in Hilo, Hawaii, that collects data on global carbon dioxide levels. (Because who need that, right?) The team there had also been posting regular updates on the eruption of the Kilauea volcano ...

Poetry Sunday: The Giving Tree by Shel Silverstein

When my kids were little, I read to them every night after putting them to bed. It's a ritual well-known to many parents of course. We had our favorites that we returned to time and time again. This was one of them. The Giving Tree by Shel Silverstein Once there was a tree.... and she loved a little boy. And everyday the boy would come and he would gather her leaves and make them into crowns and play king of the forest. He would climb up her trunk and swing from her branches and eat apples. And they would play hide-and-go-seek. And when he was tired, he would sleep in her shade. And the boy loved the tree.... very much. And the tree was happy. But time went by. And the boy grew older. And the tree was often alone. Then one day the boy came to the tree and the tree said, 'Come, Boy, come and climb up my trunk and swing from my branches and eat apples and play in my shade and be happy.' 'I am too big to climb and play' said the boy. 'I want to buy things and have ...