The Nature of Things

It isn't quite spring yet but today (Saturday) was just the kind of day that Billy Collins wrote about in this poem. Let's hope we have a few more of them before our long, hot summer sets in. Today  by Billy Collins If ever there were a spring day so perfect, so uplifted by a warm intermittent breeze that it made you want to throw open all the windows in the house and unlatch the door to the canary's cage, indeed, rip the little door from its jamb, a day when the cool brick paths and the garden bursting with peonies seemed so etched in sunlight that you felt like taking a hammer to the glass paperweight on the living room end table, releasing the inhabitants from their snow-covered cottage so they could walk out, holding hands and squinting into this larger dome of blue and white, well, today is just that kind of day.

  A roundup of the week's news of birds and the environment : The Monarchs are on their way ! I haven't seen any yet but others in my area here in Southeast Texas have reported seeing them. I will be on the lookout and I need to get my milkweed plants in the ground to welcome them. *~*~*~* Daylight saving time is coming for most of us whether we like it or not. It arrives at 2:00 a.m. on Sunday so let's prepare as best we can . *~*~*~* A report on the health of Nature in the United States was killed by the president but it has now been released independently, and the good news about that is  there actually is some good news ! *~*~*~* The Potomac River, once seriously polluted, had been deemed safe from sludge more recently but then a sewer pipe broke and dumped human waste into it. *~*~*~* There's potential good news on the California Condor front and goodness knows it's about time we had some. Wildlife biologists in California believe a pair of the birds is tendi...

Henry Wadsworth Longfellow was one of the first poets I learned to like as a child when I was just beginning to appreciate poetry. He was easy enough to understand unlike some other poets, and I liked how his poems progressed in a logical way. In my search for a poem to feature this week I came across this one that I vaguely remembered from those early years and immediately recognized that my search had ended. The Bridge by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow I stood on the bridge at midnight,  As the clocks were striking the hour, And the moon rose o'er the city, Behind the dark church-tower. I saw her bright reflection    In the waters under me, Like a golden goblet falling    And sinking into the sea. And far in the hazy distance    Of that lovely night in June, The blaze of the flaming furnace    Gleamed redder than the moon. Among the long, black rafters    The wavering shadows lay, And the current that came ...