NaturesOde

  Treetop red a promise said in song so rich, becoming. I walk away, but most the day I find myself song humming

  Hans is a builder with dumpsite junk. For example wife Timbi’s duck house and compound. Soon delightful eggs and meat to be shared with many. Sam and Stuart have to bust up beaver dam. Restoring important water flow.

  Summer has left us. In the much cooler nights The absence of mosquitos The honking of geese The butterfly meanderings The blushing cavalcade  Of deciduous CRAYOLA. The bursting show tables Of Farmers Markets. But can we shed tears Living here in delicious Canadian change and Seasons? I think not. I have spoken with the dairy cattle Bunched in field’s corner fencing. Ruminating. They moo their contentment in Much of the above. In confidence that the warm Intimacy of winter’s shed Will soon arrive. The lanterns, the stored up hay. The smells of togetherness. The daily milkings From that kindly Man Or his pig-tailed Daughter. Singing the latest. And never rushing.

  h ttps://www.audubon.org/field-guide/bird/american-redstart Warblers in general are often called 'the butterflies of the bird world,' but the Redstart may live up to that nickname more than any other species. This beautiful warbler flits about very actively in the trees, usually holding its wings and tail partly spread, as if to show off their patches of color. At times it feeds more like a flycatcher than a typical warbler, hovering among the foliage and often flying out to grab insects in mid-air.

  Orcas in waters off Morocco on May 12th. Small craft attacked and butted by numbers…Not a matter of playing around…they emit their baby-ish sound…and hull wood is smashed…coast guard found much damage.

  This field was loaded With fun, when bloodhound got Out on the run. A quick double-back. And surely a whack Was got from the Branch overhung. Fox’ bag was full Of cute pranks Some urine shot High up a bush Bespoke a beast Larger, not shy. And hound dog Would tremble the thought “This fox is much meaner Than I.” Much taller as well What the hell…I’m Flummoxed in This idiot’s eye. Good bye. (Art by Robert Bateman*) Reynard the Fox  is one of the great poems of the English countryside and rural life. The headlong dash of John Masefield's narrative carries the reader on an exhilarating chase through the meadows and copses of the landscape the poet loved, pursued by a richly characterised community. https://allpoetry.com/Reynard-the-Fox----Part-1

One took out 186,000 We are told (Reign of Jehoshaphat). That was CLOUT. To shout about. Enemies were confused And infighting. God righting. Having commissioned Just one. A whopper I bet. But yet we read Time and again He is GOD OF THE ANGEL ARMIES. And when on call You should see The harm he’s prepared To unleash. HIS STRONG RIGHT ARM. Watch out you villains. And I really mean it.

  Flying by…the little guy…sees peacock pride…good place to dump…a load of berry best..he will divest…and hear the fluffing cock…in bluish frump.

  Early enough Beating the crowds Only three parked cars and one RV. Lake is perfectly still. No fuss yet To be showy As to her camera appeal. Known worldwide. Very subdued whispering from Two gritty eyed visitors. Loopy sound of magpies And bratty banter of grey jays. The picnic robbers. Red canoes are all idle. For a while longer. Climbing forested slopes Everywhere. What a plan here As to timing And reverence. And Hilary suggested it.

I see the veldt acacia marked I’m thinking now of Kruger park and jeeps that haul the green horns there. they hang out their arms they do not care. a leopard runs from nowhere known a hand is maimed glad not my own. and now a zebra laughs contempt. he sticks to grass nought mean is meant.

One of those Biblical Monsters, friends. Lumped with dreadful Seas and storms. Usually alone And brooding. Moans distinctive And carrying Huge distances. To friends; to God? Found seasonally in Extreme cold Followed by hot. Gulping huge quantities Of briny critters While squid, sharks  And groupers Gave their obeisance. No one wished to come close But if and when Hey would see  On his side one Benevolent eye And bubbling entourage. The ancient sufferer Job Knew all of this. Swallowed one moment And then spat out.

  He paced elongated head near the clouds spots and orange would mystify. alone, and seldom crowds. those big cats feared his foreleg swipe or dreadful slicing hooves. then he so silently returned to munching branches moved. samba, so the natives named and samba, most would love. silhouetted gainst the twilight sky kilimanjero above.

  Yeah, made it through Bitch of a winter Some no longer With us. Wolves in groups Did their thing. Buzzards in the follow-up. But spring grasses And sweet wildflowers Soon arrive. Breezes tantalize. The women let off Their love signals Va va voom. My kind has seen  The stinging sandstorms The shrieks and arrows. The hungry Enfields And brushfires Caused by stupidity. Will have another round, I guess. Lord willing…

  The round earth holds a picnic of every kind and breed the oak trees drop their acorns the dandelions, seed. the lions roar at sunset the whales sing odd in brine. and I am thrilled to play in this brimming world of mine. from yasmeen hussain FB, pakistan Holy Son to Father: Look at our sweet little Blue/Green. Only the sapiens need Our chastening Correction. Is it time for me? To drop down with Awesome retribution Culling? Cleansing and renewal? Joy unspeakable? You just say the Word, Dad. And I am Away.

  With fur and feathers Side by side A truce, a touching Ferocity subsides. The forest is theirs The night sky to view. This moment of love And spirits renewed.

  Just a wee stroll With the hungry bird Gerald by name In memory of an old Piper friend.  Stubborn, sharp eyed  Big eater And yelling often his joys. Now little fella. The blinders are off. And swift you TAKE OFF. GO HIGH FOR ME. See aerial sights Beyond my ken.

  Opening Saturday, May 11 People of the Watershed: Photographs by John Macfie May 11 to November 17, 2024 People of the Watershed: Photographs by John Macfie  gathers more than 100 photographs taken by  John Macfie  (1925–2018), a settler trapline manager who worked in Northern Ontario in the 1950s and 1960s. Macfie photographed life in Anishinaabe, Cree, and Anisininew communities during a period of intense and rapid change. The people and places of Attawapiskat, Sandy Lake, Mattagami, and other communities across the Hudson’s Bay watershed are revealed through his lens in ways that emphasize the warmth and continuity of community life. Curated by nîpisîhkopâwiyiniw (Willow Cree) curator, writer, journalist, cultural advocate, and commentator  Paul Seesequasis , the exhibition centers the lives and resiliency of the Indigenous people represented, many of whom have been identified by Macfie and Seesequasis. People of the Watershed: Photographs by John Macfie  is presented by the McMic

 

  Thanx Yasmeen Hussain FB.

 

  He sports an odd grin Back of his head never showing. We have visited him With mega-bucks and Non stop news. Space Program, one of A myriad of techno changes. We have fretted over Man in the Moon. Been there and Got the T shirt. He never changes Except to hide behind Various shades for a break. There is certainty that His fullness will re-appear. We can’t say the same. Never. Us Space Fans.

  Yasmeen Nope. First one was not the tufted titmouse. the real yasmeen hussain, graphic artist offered first image here.

  The farmer found it at the headland of his corn acreage next to the woodlot. Apparently it had injured its wing and it looked rather comical hopping around in an effort to stay clear. But in moments when it rested he could not help but admire its streamlined shape, glimmering plumage and penetrating gaze - a golden eagle.With a make-shift cage he was able to contain it and bring it to the barnyard where it was staked in a semi-shaded area not far from the ducks and chickens. With all the barn cats around, it was not hard to come up with harassed or partially eaten rodents which proved acceptable to the guest. The rudimentary dressing and splint appeared to be doing the job and the bird was improving daily. The farmer noticed that the eagle was beating a path to and fro his stake. He would often notice the bird looking skyward as if waiting for something or someone. With the exception of a couple of brief scuffles, the domestic fowl stayed clear of him. They watched and studied how he

 

  Day was bright Nancy on day off Invited two friends To drive up to Bracebridge And cruise Lake Muskoka. Office demands had torn Off strips. Now for a forget-it-all break. Great space in the covered Over section by food counter One tasty sausage on a bun. Then up to the bow. Three chairs had Opened up. Just the ticket. Sun on the face. Lapping sound of waters. Noticing cormorants Flying fast and low. Some giggles. Much silence, appreciating. Together . To be remembered.

  Again I have been enlightened from Psalm 103 by Mark Guy Pearse. (1842-1930; Cornish Methodist preacher) "Who satisfieth thy mouth (ornament, spirit) with good things;" He suggests that in all the kingdom of living beings man alone is dissatisfied , and most seriously so. He may surpass other creatures in reasoning power, use of tools, communication, team work, creativity, joy, grief and other emotions. He has shown himself to have dominion over much of his environment, making it serve his purposes. But he remains a searcher with a need which cannot be satisfied by the things around him. He is after the goodness of God. Pearse reminds us that this is the image (reflection) in which Adam was formed, which reflection was lost in large part in the Fall. It is as if the heart of man universally cries somewhere within, " I shall be satisfied when I awake with His likeness." Now hear Pearse: "Think then- If there should come to thee One who knows thee through and t