Monday, May 31, 2010
Memorial Day Walk
Memorial Day, 2010
Scott and I took a walk down the Deschutes River. It was a nice 4 mile hike filled with bugs, lizards, flowers, and fisherman. We had a wonderful time.
Sunday, May 30, 2010
Nestled
These baby birds hatched less than 1 day ago. There is still one egg to go. A robin nests near the door at work almost every year. I can't wait to see them all up and ready to fly in the weeks to come.
Saturday, May 29, 2010
Friday, May 28, 2010
Thursday, May 27, 2010
Wednesday, May 26, 2010
Tuesday, May 25, 2010
Monday, May 24, 2010
Sunday, May 23, 2010
Saturday, May 22, 2010
Friday, May 21, 2010
Thursday, May 20, 2010
Wednesday, May 19, 2010
Tuesday, May 18, 2010
Monday, May 17, 2010
Sunday, May 16, 2010
Saturday, May 15, 2010
Friday, May 14, 2010
Thursday, May 13, 2010
Wednesday, May 12, 2010
Tuesday, May 11, 2010
Spinus tristis
They always seem like the same ones –
Two, three, four or five of them –
First in a hedgerow near Assisi,
Then under the lime trees in Foligno,
Now in the conifers by the house,
Pert, crimson-cheeked, opening
Veined butterfly wings
And flashing yellow
Like a ribbon in dark hair,
One moment they perch to crane and peer
Then like children in a game they spur
Each other into flight, bouncing
Like raindrops, chinking like beads,
Weightless as wind-blown leaves.
They never seem to feed but to exist
On air in air, translucent,
Ubiquitous as dreams, sparks
In perpetual motion without origin
Or aim.
The atmosphere records
Their passage as a flash
Of jewels then
Like spirits they move on.
Two, three, four or five of them –
First in a hedgerow near Assisi,
Then under the lime trees in Foligno,
Now in the conifers by the house,
Pert, crimson-cheeked, opening
Veined butterfly wings
And flashing yellow
Like a ribbon in dark hair,
One moment they perch to crane and peer
Then like children in a game they spur
Each other into flight, bouncing
Like raindrops, chinking like beads,
Weightless as wind-blown leaves.
They never seem to feed but to exist
On air in air, translucent,
Ubiquitous as dreams, sparks
In perpetual motion without origin
Or aim.
The atmosphere records
Their passage as a flash
Of jewels then
Like spirits they move on.
~by Damaris West
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