Wednesday, April 23, 2014

A Second Look--April 23, 2014

Spring is definitely here in all of its glory. Everywhere I turn, there is something new to see. Here are some of the things I saw this week during a Second Look.

The pansies from last fall have come back and are starting to bloom.

I continue to count the different varieties of daffodils that I have in the yard and I'm up to twelve. Some of the differences are subtle and don't show well in the pictures.


This bluebird brought materials to help build the nest in this box. No eggs yet.

Bleeding heart. Two weeks ago this was just a white sprout coming up.

The deer have determined that these azaleas need to be "pruned" every day.

The red bud is starting to bloom.

With his messy eating, this squirrel dropped seeds from the suet that these doves ate.

We have grape hyacinth springing up many places away from the bed they were first planted in. I assume that means some critters have been at work. This is one of the transplants.

This is the first time that I have seen one of these nests, but I think that it is a chickadee nest. The fur lining is one of the telltale signs. Six eggs were deposited in it this week.


In honor of Earth Day, here's today's poem. It is Looking West from Picnic, Lightning by Billy Collins.

Looking West
by Billy Collins

Just beyond the flower garden at the end of the lawn
the curvature of the earth begins,

sloping down from there
over the length of the country

and the smooth surface of the Pacific
before it continues across the convex rice fields of Asia

and, rising, inclines over Europe
and the bulging, boat-dotted waters of the Atlantic,

finally reaching the other side of the house
where it comes up behind a yellow grove of forsythia

near a dilapidated picnic table,
then passes unerringly under the spot

where I am standing, hands in my pockets,
feet planted firmly on the ground.

Tuesday, April 22, 2014

Good Morning

The sun is up over the trees and the birds are chirping. A goldfinch and cardinal are taking turns at the feeder giving a bright display of colors among the light fog that is lifting. A flock of Canada geese fly over giving a bass voice to the song of a wren. And here I sit at the computer with a blank mind except what is filling it from my surroundings. I fret about my lack of material and motivation for a post when I realize that I need to stop and just be in the moment. So I join the cats at the window and continue to watch the morning awakening. 

I hope you also get a few quiet moments today to enjoy what is around you.

Sunday, April 20, 2014

Thankful Sunday--April 20, 2014

I am thankful for Easter 

because it reminds us that 
all things are possible.

Friday, April 18, 2014

Ponderings of Theodore--the teenage years.

The teenage years are often a difficult time as we transition from childhood to adulthood. During this time, we try to figure out who we are and who we want to become. We explore, we retreat. We're popular, we're invisible. We're happy, we're sad. In other words, we're in limbo, not quite sure where to land. During some of Theo's teenage angst years, he wrote about this. One of those times was in today's poem.

                                                            by Theodore

                                          How can you be falling if you never hit the ground?
                                          How can you be flying if you never touch the sky?
                                          How can you love yourself if you never are good?
                                          How can you hate yourself if you never are evil?

                                          When people stare in awe and wonder
                                          And flee before your touch
                                          Neither heaven nor hell will take you
                                          And you want nothing so much

                                          As a solid place to stand
                                          And someone to take your hand.

Thursday, April 17, 2014

Freeze warnings--who knew?

I learned something interesting yesterday-at least interesting to me. I learned that freeze warnings are only issued during the growing season when there is the possibility of serious damage to plants. Previously, I thought the weather service issued a freeze warning anytime it was likely the temperatures would dip below freezing.

I came to this new revelation yesterday while watching the evening weather. Most of the viewing area was issued a freeze warning--except the mountains to the west. I wasn't sure why they were excluded, but I just assumed there was a warm front headed for us that had already reached them. However, in reality, it was because the official growing season hadn't started there yet. Therefore, there was no need to worry about the plants. Who knew that this was the real reason that the mountains didn't get the same warning? I certainly didn't until the weatherman mentioned it.

When I learn something new like this, I often wonder why I didn't know it before. I've been watching the weather my whole life, so how did I miss this? I'm not sure, but learning about it now has been fun. Sometimes it's the little things. Actually, it usually is the little things that make my day. :)

Want to know more?


During the poem sharing I've been doing this month, I've tried to include a variety of poem types--simple rhyme, children's, classical, and home grown. Today's poem will be another kind--a modern, free verse by Dylan Thomas.

Here In This spring
by Dylan Thomas

Here in this spring, stars float along the void;
Here in this ornamental winter
Down pelts the naked weather;
This summer buries a spring bird.

Symbols are selected from the years'
Slow rounding of four seasons' coasts,
In autumn teach three seasons' fires
And four birds' notes.

I should tell summer from the trees, the worms
Tell, if at all, the winter's storms
Or the funeral of the sun;
I should learn spring by the cuckooing,
And the slug should teach me destruction.

A worm tells summer better than the clock,
The slug's a living calendar of days;
What shall it tell me if a timeless insect
Says the world wears away?