Conversing With a Deer

  Conversing With a Deer Pulled open the curtains, and there stood a deer looking at me. He was doing so, as if to say, “Did you see the racoons?” I said, “You mean the two, dark humps running across the lawn?” The deer said, “Yes.” I said, “I did.” He said, “You’re observant for a human.” I said, “We’ve been doing this for thousands of years. We’re evolved.” He said, “Yeah, right, you are. You’re not evolved that much. You trash the natural world that we all need in order to survive And war with each other like a bunch of animals. If you’re so evolved, you should know better.”  “You’re right, Deer,” I said. “We’ve got a long way to go. We need to listen to nature for our salvation as a species. It’s the Divine talking through you. Thanks, Deer.” “Thank you, Human, for hearing me. Please spread the word.” “I will.”

Fred in a Fine Fix

  Fred in a Fine Fix I found Fred in a fine fix when doing some fixing on the backyard pond. For he had foundered in a flood. Even though Fred is a frog, he found himself floundering in a flowage. And, as fine a frog as he is,  Fred is young, naive, and wet-behind-the-ears, so to speak. He apparently finished one of his floats with a flop into a fifty-five gallon drum, part of our pond circulating system.  This tale has a happy ending. I rescued Fred with my trusty net, and put him back in pond proper. I think he has learned something of ponds: stay out of the pond outlet, the black hole of Frog World. If not, I’ll rig a Fred-proof screen to keep the little green dude safe. He is the first resident - that we know of - of our pond. And we don’t even have any lily pads yet for him. Stay tuned, Fred. We humans are trying to give you an environment that works, not only for us, but for all life.

Day Into Night / Night Into Day

  Day Into Night / Night Into Day Night became day, and day became night, As dark, dusky clouds blocked the sun’s light. Then lightning flashed, and thunder rumbled, As clouds burst, and rain tumbled. The grateful Earth slaked its thirst, with water pummeled. Not only did rain end water’s droughty dearth, It cleansed the air of toxic dirt. Particulates diluted with air’s cleaning Eased the breathing of all Earth’s beings, The freshened air so cool and pleasing. As spent storm clouds scuttered away, The shining world again met the light of day. The world needs skies of both blue and gray. For both, a word of thanks we pray As day became night, and night  became day.


  Coffee      “Break fluid”               R.R. Anderson Is coffee really “break fluid?” Well, for sure it’s not brake fluid. But why do some people call it “machine oil” or “battery acid?” It definitely seems to lubricate interactions between your brain and your body, and , for that matter, between people. And, like batteries, it is an acidic power source. But calling it “mud?”  Well, it does create grounds. Then some name it “paint remover.” I guess those folks like it that strong. Well, good old “Joe” is a warm companion, and provides a stimulating reaction, doesn’t he? No matter what you call it, cafe noir, or adding cream, cafe au lait, coffee is the best pick-me-up on the planet

Breakfast at the Birdfeeders

  Breakfast at the Birdfeeders A storm of twenty grackles descend on the feeders, their blue-black heads pecking, dropping seeds to their offspring on the ground. Red-wing blackbirds, as well, join in the feast, while squirrels, red and gray, and chipmunks get showered with seed from above. Next blue jays,  house finches, and black-capped chickadees  appear, wondering what the gathering is about, but soon find out, and dine as well. Rabbits enjoy some seed, along with the dutch white clover overspreading our meadow-like lawn. A woodpecker waits for the crowd to subside, then gets his share. Robins bounce along with little competition for their wormy diet.Then the co-stars of the show, the sunbird - oriole - and the firebird - cardinal - have their turn. A busy morning.   

The Feel of Rain

  The Feel of Rain Thick, gray clouds douse the rising sun So humid you can feel water in steamy air Not a breath of wind Branches unmoving, quiet in anticipation Birds feed quickly knowing it will rain Then sudden wind gusts And real rain, not the airy kind, hits my window pane Quenches the thirsty world

Attempting a World's Record

  Attempting a World’s Record If there is such a thing for the spear thistle, my eleven year old grandson Kai and I are going for it. Kai has his own sports blog, and he is enthusiastic about records, especially those of football.  When I mentioned that I’m going for a record, his ears immediately perked up. When I told him it’s the record size of a thistle, he thought, “Oh, that’s Grandpa.” But we’ll see what he says if our thistle makes the Guiness Book of World Records. Our thistle lives on the edge of the woods behind our meadow-like lawn, guarding, so to speak, what we call the door of leaves.  We call it that because it is an opening in the thick woods through which all manner of wildlife emerges - deer, fox, and turkey to name a few. Our thistle is now close to five feet high with sixteen blossoms.  Besides the dubious distinction of a world record, why, you might ask, would we want to keep this weed. If we dig it up because it’s a weed, then we would need to dig-up or poison al