now, more.

Wednesday, February 24, 2010

Thursday, February 18, 2010

The Summer Day

Mary Oliver

Who made the world?
Who made the swan, and the black bear?
Who made the grasshopper?
This grasshopper, I mean-
the one who has flung herself out of the grass,
the one who is eating sugar out of my hand,
who is moving her jaws back and forth instead of up and down-
who is gazing around with her enormous and complicated eyes.
Now she lifts her pale forearms and thoroughly washes her face.
Now she snaps her wings open, and floats away.
I don't know exactly what a prayer is.
I do know how to pay attention, how to fall down
into the grass, how to kneel down in the grass,
how to be idle and blessed, how to stroll through the fields,
which is what I have been doing all day.
Tell me, what else should I have done?
Doesn't everything die at last, and too soon?
Tell me, what is it you plan to do
with your one wild and precious life?




from http://www.loc.gov/poetry/180/133.html

Monday, February 08, 2010

subconscious coleoptera

Last night I dreamt that I found a beautiful cerambycid on the curtain of an old house. When I went to get a bottle to hold him, I found a beautiful buprestid on my wrist.







The cerambycid was a powdery white color and had deep texture on its elytra. Its head was a powdery blue with a slight sparkle, like snow. Its antennae were powdery white and had cleary defined squatty v-shaped segments.

The buprestid was black underneath, black legs, dusty gold elytra. Some very faint lime green in the gold, near the head.

Tuesday, February 02, 2010

today we're all busdrivers.

singing loudly at the busstop is permitted, and appreciated.

and a joke that goes something like this:

x: let me see your phone.
y: ok. (hands x the phone)
x: guess who i'm gonna call.
y: (interrupted)
x: ghostbusters. (laughs a good laugh)

on the ride home i briefly considered becoming a bus driver during the summer.

it is a noble job.

and i miss my friend harold (or was it howard? how unreliable my mind!), who used to drive my route and tell me all about the charms of wendover.













zim is singing to the juncos and chickadees at the feeder.