Monday, August 29, 2016


"So gradual in those summers was the going
     of the age it seemed that the long days setting out
when the stars faded over the mountains were not
     leaving us even as the birds woke in full song and the dew
glittered in the webs it appeared then that the clear morning
     opening into the sky was something of ours
to have and keep"

from The Speed of Light
W.S. Merwin

The migrating birds are going or gone now and soon we will
follow them, but while touring sloughs a few weeks ago we 
saw a number of Sora, a bird we rarely see. The adults stayed
well hidden but here one perfect tiny dancer completes the 
last steps of her dance before her final curtsey.

“Sometimes I need

only to stand
wherever I am 
to be blessed.” 

from Evidence?
by Mary Oliver

Monday, August 22, 2016

"Well, what tongue does the wind talk? 
What nationality is a storm? 
What country do rains come from? 
What color is lightning? 
Where does thunder goe when it dies?” 

from Something Wicked This Way Comes
by Ray Bradbury

On July 4th I wrote about a big thunderstorm we had. Aside from
dog related trauma things seem to go okay. However the next day
my brother-in-law found one of his younger cows dead on a hill 
in the pasture possibly struck by lightning. It definitely struck this
poplar trees in one of the hay fields.

Monday, August 15, 2016

This summer we have seen mostly Red Tailed Hawks, they

haunt our hay field daily. These photos of a Red Tail on a
truly awe-inspiring rock pile are the result of a trip to look 
for shorebirds that we took last week between Lac La Peche 
and Hafford Saskatchewan.

Sorry about the different fonts blogger will not post the edits.

"Look! Look! he is climbing the last light 
Who knows neither Time nor error, and under 
Whose eye, unforgiving, the world, unforgiven, swings 
Into shadow. 

Long now, 
The last thrush is still, the last bat 
Now cruises in his sharp hieroglyphics. His wisdom 
Is ancient, too, and immense. The star 
Is steady, like Plato, over the mountain. 

If there were no wind we might, we think, hear 
The earth grind on its axis, or history 
Drip in darkness like a leaking pipe in the cellar."

from Evening Hawk
by Robert Penn Warren

Wednesday, August 3, 2016

"I go and lie down where the wood drake 
rests in his beauty on the water, and the great heron feeds. 
I come into the peace of wild things 
who do not tax their lives with forethought 
of grief. I come into the presence of still water. 
And I feel above me the day-blind stars 
waiting with their light. For a time 
I rest in the grace of the world, and am free."

from The Peace of Wild Things
by Wendell Berry

I took the first three photos last year, these sawhorses 
of scrap lumber were made many years ago by my
 late father-in-law and they acted not only as a perch for
  Phoebes and a jungle gym for chipmunks 
 but also as a reminder of John.

I always think of chipmunks as creatures of parks and camp sites, 
easily tamed, not really wild. The next three photos were taken
while canoeing last night. This inquisitive chipmunk climbed thru
a maze of branches to watch us go by. There are no house or 
cabins for a mile or more. It is both curious and wild.