It is a condition of the enjoyable that we have neither too much sameness nor too much chaos in our lives.
Nature
The slaughter of the innocents
A still November morning. Brittle, transparent, like glass. Suddenly shattered.
When nature’s clocks tick out of tune
A wind in the willows. Not just any wind and not just any willows. It was a warm spring wind, full of the flavors of the south. And the willows were pussy willows, in the first soft flush of catkins.
What makes your place special? Take a look
“As time went by, I realized that the particular place I’d chosen was less important than the fact that I’d chosen a place and focused my life around it.”
In praise of nature’s small sweeper-uppers
A new television commercial contrasts the fun of drinking Pepsi with the boredom of attending college classes. In the classroom sequence, a tweedy professor drones on about “dung beetles.”
The shifting spectrum on animal rights
My walk to and from work each day takes me through land administered by the Natural Resources Trust of Easton. It was there I met the deer.
Watching the beautiful flutter by
On vacation recently, I was walking along a bog road in the hills of western Ireland. It was 8:30 a.m., the grass wet with dew, the sun burning off the last morning mists. I was accompanied by a dozen red admiral butterflies, fluttering from grass tuft to grass tuft a few yards ahead, pausing now and then to spread their showy black, white, and flame-orange wings, soaking up sunlight, drying out, adjusting their thermostats.
The peril of too much access
The Great Blasket Island lies a mile or so off the westernmost coast of Ireland. Until 1953, the island was home for a small, isolated community of Irish-speaking people, who lived on shipwrecks, herring, and potatoes, without benefit of electricity, telephones, running water, or even that most Irish of amenities, a pub.
Catching spring in the act
“I have that haunting feeling that spring this year again performed all her old tricks and showed me just how life is made and what it is made of, but her hand has such sleight and she so distracts the attention with waving green scarves and birds let loose from the loft that just when you think it is time now to watch carefully, the thing is done.”
The butterflies’ choice
This is the wrong time of the year to be writing about butterflies. It will be another month or so before the Mourning Cloaks emerge from hibernation to greet the first warm day of spring. And even longer before other species complete their metamorphosis from egg to caterpillar to winged adult.