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Poetry Sunday: Spring and All: III [The farmer in deep thought]

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 ...

This week in birds - #626

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  A roundup of the week's news of birds and the environment : The American Bird Conservancy's Bird of the Week was one of my favorite birds when I was growing up. It is the beautiful Eastern Towhee , although when I was a child I knew it as the Rufous-sided Towhee . By any name, it is a remarkably beautiful bird with a sweet song. *~*~*~* Shall we celebrate "Gulf of Mexico Day" on March 18?  *~*~*~* The Environmental Protection Agency has become the Environmental Destruction Agency in the new administration. Apparently that administration believes that greenhouse gases are good for our health  and there will be no resistance to climate change . And birds will die as a result. *~*~*~* In fact, the Fracker in Chief, otherwise called the Secretary of Energy, believes that the world needs more fossil fuels , not less. *~*~*~* A new study indicates that microplastics may already be affecting our food supply .  *~*~*~* Meanwhile, the fossil fuel lobby is campaigning fo...

Poetry Sunday: March by A.E. Housman

From " A Shropshire Lad " by A.E. Housman, here is his ode to March.  MARCH by A.E. Housman The Sun at noon to higher air, Unharnessing the silver Pair That late before his chariot swam, Rides on the gold wool of the Ram. So braver notes the storm-cock sings To start the rusted wheel of things, And brutes in field and brutes in pen Leap that the world goes round again. The boys are up the woods with day To fetch the daffodils away, And home at noonday from the hills They bring no dearth of daffodils. Afield for palms the girls repair, And sure enough the palms are there, And each will find by hedge or pond Her waving silver-tufted want. In farm and field through all the shire The eye beholds the heart’s desire; Ah, let not only mine be vain, For lovers should be loved again.