|(Image Credit: scottrussellsanders.com)|
In defining wilderness as an unruly place where shaggy creatures roam, our language betrays an uneasiness about our own hairy origins and a regret that the original world does not dance to our music. Beyond our campfires, beyond our tents, beyond our makeshift structures, the whole universe is wild, from quarks to quasars, from black bears to black holes, but far from being disorderly, it follows intricate, exquisite rules that we have only begun to decipher. They are not our rules, however, no matter who fervently we may desire to legislate, a fact that is dismaying only to those who believe that we should be running the show.
–Scott Russell Sanders, “Voyageurs”
Very few could sing the sad songs like George Jones. Ol’ Possum left us the other day, just thought I’d pay my respects by posting a video.
|(Photo Credit: Catherine Hall, http://www.shepherd.edu/transweb/waldenpond.htm)|
[One of the weapons] with which he conquered all obstacles in science was patience. He knew how to sit immovable, a part of the rock he rested on, until the bird, the reptile, the fish, which had retired from him, should come back, and resume its habits, nay, moved by curiosity, should come to him and watch him. –R. W. Emerson, from “Thoreau”
|(Image credit: http://www.canyondechelly.net/)|
To believe is to believe you have been torn
from the abyss, yet stand waveringly on its rim.
–Christian Wiman, “One Time” from Every Riven Thing
I told one of my daughters that I’d put this on my blog. Joe Cocker singing his heart out at Woodstock, and someone having fun with captions. Enjoy!
It stands in [the Sceptic’s] mind that our life in the world is not of quite so easy interpretations as churches and schoolbooks say. He does not wish to take ground against these benevolences, to play the part of the devil’s attorney, and blazon every doubt and sneer that darkens the sun for him. But he says, There are doubts.
–R. W. Emerson, from “Montaigne; or, the Sceptic”
My day off. Woke up late (didn’t go to bed until 3:30 am, so it’s excusable), read a little, installed a new light fixture in the dining room. The old one went out a couple of weeks ago, but I haven’t been home much, so the wife and kids have been eating supper in the dark. Anyway, I’ve been reading some in Keats today, and found this little piece that I enjoyed much, published under the heading Trivia:
I am as brisk
As a bottle of Wisk-
Ey and as nimble
As a Milliner’s thimble.