I’ve plenty of images and tales to share, yet I’ve insufficient time in which to do so.  For that, I am bewildered by regret.

No part of me denies my job has insidiously impacted my writing.  That includes blogging, a minuscule part of my perpetual prose and poetry.

For priorities vex me at every turn.  First, and without denial, come The Kids.  They forever represent my focus, the crux of my every breath, the opening of my every petal and the reaching of my every branch.  For them, nothing rests outside of reach.  I would gladly suffer eternal horrors to ensure they know my love.

Tucked neatly behind them, both family and friends lie in wait.  I can deny no amount of insufferable neglect for the names writ upon that list.  How I wish to embrace each of them, to remark upon my love for what they give me, and to wish with them on every star we can consume with shared eyes rested next to each other.

My quest for enlightened success with novelist hopes then carries a banner seen above faces drawn by lamentable affection.  Dare I name one before the other, a friend here and a book there, or dare I imagine within me the visage of both, a landscape of devotions torn one from the other?

Yet even still I pen want after need after want after need.  Nary a soul or design escapes me without torment.  Too much I want to accomplish.  Too little I find of time.

Within the heavy yoke of survival I rest my weary neck.  The bonds of life drag me to and fro without concern.  At least in spite of my own.

I’ve partaken of no sustenance even at this late hour.  My flesh beckons for the nourishment it needs . . . and is denied.

I beg your forgiveness as I proffer this simple gift: a quote too often quoted and a picture too often pictured.  Let them sate your hungry heart for but a moment so that I might weep in need the passions unfulfilled in my own life.

Because I have no other offering. . .

“This grand show is eternal. It is always sunrise somewhere; the dew is never all dried at once; a shower is forever falling; vapor ever rising. Eternal sunrise, eternal sunset, eternal dawn and gloaming, on seas and continents and islands, each in its turn, as the round earth rolls.”

— John Muir

I will once again enjoy the marvelous experience of being on call next week.

This information is offered as a preemptive notice of possible impact to my blogging.

Last time there were a few evenings when I barely had time to eat, so this little online journal fell way to the bottom of the list of priorities.

So it will be again next week if I hit any tumultuous evenings with work stuff.

Keep that in mind.

Until a sugar daddy comes along or I’m made rich with income from my novels, I’m afraid this work thing will undoubtedly cause the occasional interruption to an already unreliable blogging momentum.

A conviction of being in control is central to our sense of safety; yet the imposition of illusory control chokes the richness out of life. Omnipotence degrades authentic experience into shallow manipulation. The more endangered we feel, the more control we seek; the more illusory are the controls we strive to maintain, the more vitality seeps out of our lives.

— Stephen Mitchell

“Beware of people who dislike cats.”

— Irish proverb

[Kazon]

It’s come to my attention that nearly all photos posted before this week have suddenly gone AWOL.

Let me explain.

Zooomr completed a major site upgrade this week and went live last night with a new version that—not to put too fine a point on it—should embarrass Flickr and Picasa and other image hosting sites.

But that’s not the point.

Within ten minutes of going live with the new version, they suffered a major hardware failure on their primary database server.

So at this point, the site is essentially dead—as are all of the photos they host for me.

Not to worry though, poppets.  It should be fixed soon.  As soon as it is, those images will reappear like magic.

Meanwhile, I’m using Flickr for temporary hosting until Zooomr is resurrected.

And let me say that I’m not at all turned off of Zooomr because of this.  Remember that it’s a global service developed by a teenager and run by two gentlemen who feel strongly about how important pictures are to the global culture of the internet.

They’ll grow, I assure you, as they’re outpacing the competition in leaps and bounds.  The latest version, Mark III, is, as I said, something that shames every other hosting service.  They can only dream of being as advanced.

Nevertheless, accidents and emergencies befall all of us at the most inopportune times.  So it is with Zooomr.  They weren’t live for more than a quarter of an hour before servers began giving up the ghost.

How rude!

When the dust settles, I’ll migrate the recent Flickr photos to Zooomr, after which you’ll be able to view the larger versions.  Until then, however, I suggest patience.

One of the marvelous experiences to be had at the family farm is to appreciate the surroundings.  East Texas offers a lush, verdant representation of a state otherwise marked by deserts, subtropical and coastal zones, plains and grasslands, valleys and hills, and a great many other geological varieties.  Spanning more than 267,000 square miles (or more than 692,000 square kilometers), this state does indeed posses a diverse variety of environments.

Our little refuge is tucked quietly in amongst dense woodlands largely populated by second-growth trees.  The land stretches for some distance, and it rests against and atop one of the taller spaces available in the area.

I arrived Saturday morning shortly before ten and found the first order of business was to move the cattle from one pasture to another.  My pleasure stood in knowing the target spot was the highest pasture on the farm.  I happily took my place on the tractor as we drove up the hill.

After a brief yet bumpy ride, we disembarked from our sluggish steed and made our way to the series of gates separating most of the various pastures from the main part of the farm.  It tickled me to see all of the cattle already waiting patiently nearby, both young and old looking rather full of promise brought on by anticipation of fresh grass spread like a banquet just beyond the fence.

We stepped through the gate and led the way up the hill.  Much mooing ensued as the entire herd followed us.  Many of the young pranced and kicked in excitement, a good deal of which undoubtedly stemmed from playful spirits.  The elder bovines, on the other hand, made most of the noise yet followed in a more dignified manner.

Although we did not join the cows in the highest pasture, we stood at its entrance for some time as they grazed happily above us.

It was at that point I realized we had a complementary view of the surrounding area (not equal to the one enjoyed by the herd, yet one still wondrous enough to lure a repeated smile from my face).

Unfortunately, the day was rather hazy.  In fact, several times as I drove I wondered if it was not so much haze as a heavy blanket of morning fog.  Yet haze it was, a blemish draped across the landscape like a hastily tossed throw inadvertently covering breathless décor.

In spite of the weather’s disinterest in cooperating, I was able to grab a few photos looking across the pasture toward the spectacular forests that surround the farm.

For ages, a deadly conflict has been waged between a few brave men and women of thought and genius upon the one side, and the great ignorant religious mass on the other. This is the war between Science and Faith. The few have appealed to reason, to honor, to law, to freedom, to the known, and to happiness here in this world. The many have appealed to prejudice, to fear, to miracle, to slavery, to the unknown, and to misery hereafter. The few have said, “Think!” The many have said, “Believe!”

— Robert G. Ingersoll

Cool!  “Astronomers have discovered 28 new planets outside of our solar system, increasing to 236 the number of known exoplanets, one of which is a hybrid Earth-Neptune object with a rocky core surrounded by a shell of ice.”

Isn’t the Salvation Army supposed to be Christian?  Then explain to me why, when hundreds of millions of dollars were bequeathed to various charities, that organization was the only one to sue everyone involved in order to get more than their allotted share of the bounty.

Birds in the News 85 (v3n12) Memorial Day Edition: Where you can find all your avian news from around the globe.

Don’t forget to visit Carnival of the Dogs.

Sharpen your claws and cough up a hairball at Carnival of the Cats #166.  There’s too much feline fun to be contained—even by a baseball team.

For even more kitty antics, head on over to Weekend Cat Blogging #103.

There will be no children for this pair of mockingbirds.

Their diligent parenting notwithstanding, the last small voice of a new generation has altogether been silenced.

Where once four were birthed, there remains none.

Nature saw fit to dispatch the brood in methodical bloodletting one life at a time.

Tempestuous weather danced winds about their perches until their grasps were weakened, then upon these feeble holds was thrown rain to make even the most secure branch slippery.

Like trees felled by the woodsman’s axe, innocent lives were cut down each in turn.

I stood against the fence and beckoned to those small mouths to call out one more time.  I hoped beyond logic for at least one to have survived.

But it is not so.

Instead, day by day the lights were extinguished by whatever means could be wielded by forces more powerful than even the strongest of technologies.

I weep lamentations upon the ground where still bodies once rested.

My tears wet the spaces beneath verdant cover that once offered its protection.

My lungs grasp at the air and heave it to and fro as if to contain within them its total agony now unheard and unseen except by my mind’s eye and my spirit’s heart.

Yet the two visit the tree still.  At least from time to time.

In the hollows of their eyes I see hunger to see the child that is no more.

In the emptiness of their ears I hear the desperate listening for a demanding voice pleading for one more meal.

In the stillness of their being I feel the unspoken cry for what has been lost, what can never be replaced.

Beckon to the sound of an ancient heart as it beats like a drum the rhythm of life.

For that rhythm can both inflame the passion of existence and extinguish its light with brutal finality.

So these two—these two stricken with the severity of parenthood desperately seek one moment more.

That time will never come.

With all the recent talk—and even some photos—of the northern mockingbird parents in the tree outside my patio, I wanted to share something far less depressing than has been the story of their offspring.  Too many losses, I say, and too many tears.

So let us then turn our attention to the more entertaining side of mockingbirds.

You know Larenti visits often.  She now spends a great deal of time on my patio.

Surprisingly, I’ve discovered al-Zill also finds the veranda a great place to rest and relax, not to mention to grab a bite to eat.

A few days ago when I stepped outside, I found this most recent feline discovery enjoying a midday meal as Larenti lounged in the intermittent sunshine that dappled the concrete floor each time the clouds broke.

I snapped a few photos of the pair (to be shown later).  As I stood there, however, someone else came into the picture.

It was one of the mockingbird parents.

Don’t get me wrong.  It’s not surprising to have one or both birds launch an assault on any feline visitor.  For that matter, they yell at me and threaten me with their aerial acrobatics, so a cat certainly should expect a challenge.

The moment the bird instigated the encounter with al-Zill, the cat stepped away from the food, walked to a position near the fence, and lay down in such an uncaring manner as to insult the winged parent with complete disregard.

That’s when I switched the camera to video mode, aimed, and began shooting.

Keep in mind I was on the opposite side of the patio and didn’t have enough time to really zoom in.  I didn’t want to miss any of the verbal abuse being heralded at the felines—especially al-Zill.

Nevertheless, you can see how brave the mockingbirds are.  Remember they hit me in the head several times while making runs at Vazra before I rescued him, and he was sitting on the fence when that happened.  A cat on the ground is a safer bet when you keep your distance and throw nothing more damaging than avian insults.

Oh, and the cats weren’t one bit impressed.

[video is 0:21]