Nothing Really Changes

Li K’ai-hsien 1502-68

Hiss, hiss—the north wind blows,
knocking people down in the streets.
They have pants which don’t even cover their shins;
and they have no food at all; only dust fills their jars.
In the warm houses, what do they know of winter?
The flowery rooms have a springtime of their own!
Those dandies with their fancy pants of silk:
there’s not much you can say to them about the poor

translated Chinese poem from 500 years ago

Female Wood Duck - swimming farther up the feeder creek, I lucked out and was able to get a shot of her

Wood Duck, male now swimming into the feeder creek

Sea Gull Scene - four photographs

Sea Gull Time

Wood Duck, Aix sponsa - This is a male Wood Duck swimming alone in the open river above the gull scene which I will post later today

Beautiful and unique, this duck of woodland ponds and river swamps has no close relatives, except for the Mandarin Duck of eastern Asia. Abundant in eastern North America in Audubon's time, the Wood Duck population declined seriously during the late 19th century because of hunting and loss of nesting sites. Its recovery to healthy numbers was an early triumph of wildlife management.

Gleam

Roiling

Dark Shadows Fly

My Best Guess is - Red Tailed Hawk, Buteo jamicensis (some good birder please correct me if I am wrong)

Long View Into The Winter Day

The Waterfowl Drift and Float - Along The Shore Of The Old Mills Moat - and The Tide Ebbs Till The Mudflats Show - The Daily Rhythm of The Rivers Flow

That Same Morning Sun Alights My Entrance Wall

Sun Through Morning Trees and Rain Droplets

Red Shouldered Hawk, Buteo lineatus - first two photos from across the road with window down, last photo same side as hawk through the wind-screen

More - By Don Blanding

Somehow

I've tried for many an hour and minute
To think of this world without me in it.
I can't imagine a new-born day
Without me here . . . somehow . . . some way.
I can not think of autumn's flare
Without me here . . . alive . . . aware.
I can't imagine a dawn in spring
Without my heart awakening.

These treasured days will come and go
At swifter pace . . . but this I know . . .
I have no fear . . . I have no dread
Of that marked day that lies ahead.
My flesh will turn to ash and clay
But I'll be here . . . Somehow . . . some way!

Vagabond's House - Don Blanding . . . . . the end of this long poem describes my dream life with Carol as well as the house of dreams

and we come to the end of this long and endearing poem - and though some thoughts are outdated in today's world of 'politically correct' there was never a malice aforethought of expression and only a loving capture of an envisionment of what might be at the end of the day

I’ll go. And my house will fall away
While the mice by night and the moths by day
Will nibble the covers off all my books,
And the spiders weave in the shadowed nooks.
And my dogs . . . I’ll see that they have a home
While I follow the sun, while I drift and roam
To the ends of the earth like a chip on the stream,
Like a straw on the wind, like a vagrant dream;
And the thought will strike with a swift sharp pain
That I probably never will build again
This house that I’ll have in some far day
Well . . . it’s just a dream house, anyway.

Through Out The Tree

Morning Mistigon

Are We Coming - Or Going, Eh?

Sun Burning Away The Rising Mist

The Tree Will Be Up Through The 6th of January - for certain, maybe longer if it is still taking up water

One of Carol's Favorite Ornaments

Looking Toward The Elk River

I Still Miss You, Sloe Eyes

I Miss You Sloe Eyes

an elegy to my wife who passed some seven months ago

I miss you Sloe Eyes,

I miss your smile

I miss your walk

I miss your laugh.

I miss your presence in the house

I miss that innate goodness in all you do.

I miss you Sloe Eyes,

I miss our us.

I miss our morning tea

I miss our weekend movie

I miss our quiet times

I miss your insights into the way of things.

I miss you Sloe Eyes,

I miss that love that surrounded us

I miss that freshness we met each day,

I miss that bulwark against the vagaries of life

I miss you onto my missing days are gone
and we are one once more!

I love you forever Sloe Eyes . . . .

CapeBreton-NorvellHimself-SingleMalt

Single Malts - and other odd Musings