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Weyward by Emilia Hart: A review

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Weyward tells the stories of three women from three different centuries, women who are tied together by blood and by the common sanctuary that each of them found in a place called Weyward Cottage. We meet and get to know Kate from 2019, Violet from 1942, and Altha from 1619. Perhaps most importantly we get to know the cottage that is worlds away from the unhappiness and abuse that those three women experienced in their lives. Kate had inherited the cottage in 2019 from a great-aunt whom she barely knew. The inheritance came at a fortuitous time as she needed to escape from an abusive relationship. As things became unbearable for her, she fled under cover of darkness to the cottage where she had never really spent any time previously. It felt to her like coming home. In 1619, Altha was charged with witchcraft. She was accused of having murdered a local farmer by causing a stampede of his cattle that had trampled and killed him. Her mother had taught her knowledge of the natural world a
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Death at the Sign of the Rook by Kate Atkinson: A review

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When I read that Kate Atkinson had released another book featuring former police detective and now private detective Jackson Brodie, I put my reading list aside and picked it up. I never miss a chance to spend time in the company of Brodie. This entry is, it seems to me, an homage to Agatha Christie's And Then There Were None which I read long, long ago and which, along with The Murder of Roger Ackroyd engendered and confirmed my love of mysteries.  Atkinson takes us to Rook Hall, the east wing of one of England's stately homes called Burton Makepeace where a "Murder Mystery Weekend" is being hosted by the cash-strapped owners of the home as a way of raising money. For only £1250 per person, the guests which include a vicar who has lost his faith and his ability to speak, an army major who lost a leg and his interest in life, a countess, and the Dowager Lady Milton as hostess will have the opportunity to solve a murder mystery.  But then a real mystery intervenes whe
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Poetry Sunday: Autumn Fires by Robert Louis Stevenson

There are no autumn fires where I live in Southeast Texas unless they are the fires of neighbors burning their leaves. If we are lucky and actually get a winter this year we may have fires in the fireplace at some point. We can hope for that. In the meantime, let us enjoy Robert Louis Stevenson's take on the seasons: " Something bright in all!  Flowers in the summer,  Fires in the fall!"     Autumn Fires by Robert Louis Stevenson In the other gardens    And all up in the vale, From the autumn bonfires    See the smoke trail! Pleasant summer over,     And all the summer flowers, The red fire blazes,    The grey smoke towers. Sing a song of seasons!    Something bright in all! Flowers in the summer,    Fires in the fall! 
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This week in birds - # 603

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  A roundup of the week's news of birds and the environment : It's the cutest of the waterbirds - a Pied-billed Grebe enjoys a swim in the afternoon sun. *~*~*~* Climate change is a reality that even the most adamant deniers must now admit. Some believe that polluting the atmosphere will help to slow it. Meanwhile, climate scientists warn that we have already breached seven of the nine boundaries of Earth's ecosystems. *~*~*~* But some astronomers see a possibility that Earth may actually outlive its star . *~*~*~* Methane emissions keep rising   which is not   a good   omen for the continued survival of life on Earth. *~*~*~* How can you help? Well, you could plant a garden . *~*~*~* Another way to help may be to bury wood in the soil . *~*~*~* This autumn will be an exciting time for skywatchers . *~*~*~* Native American farming practices have evolved to deal with heat, drought, and water scarcity .  *~*~*~* How can a lake the size of New York City simply disappear?
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Poetry Sunday: Calling Things What They Are by Ada Limon

It is important to call things what they are. The poet Ada Limon agrees. Calling Things What They Are by Ada Limon I pass the feeder and yell,  Grackle party!  And then an hour later I yell,  Mourning dove afterparty!  (I call the feeder the party and the seed on the ground the afterparty.) I am getting so good at watching that I’ve even dug out the binoculars an old poet gave me back when I was young and heading to the Cape with so much future ahead of me it was like my own ocean.  Tufted titmouse!  I yell, and Lucas laughs and says,  Thought so.  But he is humoring me; he didn’t think so at all. My father does this same thing. Shouts out at the feeder announcing the party attendees. He throws out a whole peanut or two to the Stellar’s jay who visits on a low oak branch in the morning. To think there was a time I thought birds were kind of boring. Brown bird. Gray bird. Black bird. Blah blah blah bird. Then, I started to learn their names by the ocean, and the person I was dating said
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This week in birds - #602

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A roundup of the week's news of birds and the environment :  My yard is still alive with migrating Ruby-throated Hummingbirds . Sitting on my patio today, I counted nine at one time who were jostling over access to my feeders that hang next to the patio. But so far, I am seeing only adult females and immatures - nary an adult male like the one in this picture that I snapped last fall. I assume the males will be passing through soon.   *~*~*~* Floods and wildfires in Europe are a direct result of climate change according to authorities there. And it is not only in Europe that rising global heat is causing catastrophic damage . *~*~*~* Moreover, a new reconstruction of prehistoric Earth shows that it was indeed a very hot place . *~*~*~* Why do birds migrate ? *~*~*~* The Zimbabwe government has ordered the culling of 200 elephants because an extended drought has caused food shortages for the animals. *~*~*~* Rising sea temperatures have contributed to a decline in the population o
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Poetry Sunday: The Magnificent Frigatebird by Ada Limon

On trips to the coast, I have sometimes seen frigatebirds and truly they are magnificent! A bird that lives up to its name. The Magnificent Frigatebird by Ada Limon Is it okay to begin with the obvious? I am full of stones—             is it okay not to look out this window, but to look out another? A mentor once said,  You can't start a poem with a man looking              out a window.   Too many men looking out a window . What about a woman? Today is a haunting. One last orange             on the counter: it is a dead fruit. We swallow dead things. Once, in Rio near Leblon, large seabirds soared over the vast             South Atlantic Ocean. I had never seen them before. Eight-foot wingspan and gigantic in their confident gliding, black,             with a red neck like a wound or a hidden treasure. Or both. When I looked it up, I learned it was the Magnificent Frigatebird.             It sounded like that enormity of a bird had named itself. What a pleasure to say,  I am Magni
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