A Mien to move a Queen— Half Child—Half Heroine— An Orleans in the Eye That puts its manner by For humbler Company When none are near Even a Tear— Its frequent Visitor—
Bloom — is Result — to meet a Flower And casually glance Would cause one scarcely to suspect The minor Circumstance Assisting in the Bright Affair So intricately done Then offered as a Butterfly To the Meridian — To pack the Bud — oppose the Worm — Obtain its right of Dew — Adjust the Heat — elude the Wind — Escape the prowling Bee Great Nature not to disappoint Awaiting Her that Day — To be a Flower, is profound Responsibility —
Ash-throated Flycatcher Near Tubac Along The Santa Cruz River
Ash-throated Flycatcher Near Tubac Along The Santa Cruz River
Lesser Goldfinch In A Mesquite Tree
Albert’s Towhee — Images by kenne
One of the birding trips I went on during last month’s Tucson Audubon Society’s annual birding festival was to Tubac, which is located near the Santa Cruz River. These are a few of the better shots I was able to get while there.
Since I live in the Tucson area and often hiked trails in and around Tubac, most all the birds we saw I can see from my patio. The major difference was being able to spend time with birders from all across the country and Mexico — an interesting group of people, if you get my drift.
— kenne
‘Hope’ is the thing with feathers – That perches in the soul – And sings the tune without the words – And never stops – at all –
And sweetest – in the Gale – is heard – And sore must be the storm – That could abash the little Bird That kept so many warm –
I’ve heard it in the chillest land – And on the strangest Sea – Yet – never – in Extremity, It asked a crumb – of me.
Hiking Bighorn Country In The Santa Catalina Mountains — Image by kenne
“Nature” is what we see— The Hill—the Afternoon— Squirrel—Eclipse—the Bumble bee— Nay—Nature is Heaven— Nature is what we hear— The Bobolink—the Sea— Thunder—the Cricket— Nay—Nature is Harmony— Nature is what we know— Yet have no art to say— So impotent Our Wisdom is To her Simplicity.
‘The Sky is low — the Clouds are mean’ — Image by kenne
A few days ago, Frank Hudson posted an analysis of this little poem by Emily Dickinson. I continue to learn a lot from Frank’s posts, his summaries, and music.
His efforts remind me of my sophomore English teacher, who was dealt the hand of teaching an all jock class of young boys. During every class, she would read at least one poem. She was like the mother taking her children to the museum, hoping to instill some humanity. At the time, we thought she was wasting her’s and our time. Time has proven otherwise.
Although I don’t have anywhere near Frank’s analysis skills, I enjoy reading and learning from his posts.
— kenne
The Sky is low — the Clouds are mean. A Travelling Flake of Snow Across a Barn or through a Rut Debates if it will go —
A Narrow Wind complains all Day How some one treated him Nature, like Us is sometimes caught Without her Diadem.
