who’s most afraid of death?

who’s most afraid of death?  thou
           &nbs p;           &n bsp;                       art of him
utterly afraid, i love of thee
(beloved) this

A great egret (Ardea alba) walking through the marshes of the Sunset Bay confluence at White Rock Lake (20080518_05676)

           &nbs p;       and truly i would be
near when his scythe takes crisply the whim
of thy smoothness.  and mark the fainting
murdered petals.  with the caving stem.

Looking up the trunk of a massive eastern cottonwood (Populus deltoides) near the shore of White Rock Lake (20080518_05474)

But of all most would i be one of them

round the hurt heart which do so frailly cling… .
i who am but imperfect in my fear

Or with thy mind against my mind, to hear
nearing our hearts’ irrevocable play—
through the mysterious high futile day

A lone sailboat moving wistfully across White Rock Lake (20080518_05565)

an enormous stride
           &nbs p;           &n bsp;  (and drawing thy mouth toward

my mouth, steer our lost bodies carefully downward)

An empty bench sitting under a tree on the shore of White Rock Lake (20080518_05489)

[poem is “who’s most afraid of death? thou art of him” by e.e. cummings]

What hand have you in this?

She peers between the cracks like an old friend looking in upon us, like a handmaiden rested from sleep so she might tend to our collective well-being.

Peek if you must, but rest your eyes upon me nonetheless.

A friend, yes, but more than that.

I scarcely recognize her in such garments, in such clothes woven from desperation’s fair.

She sings to me of lesser times, of that which only she knows, and she feels the heartache just as I feel it, just as I desperately grab at its core in hopes of resting from its grip the anguish it brandishes.

Ah, but she knows.

Wielded like a sword waved to and fro before my face.

A blade.

A weapon.

A terrible thing.

She comes for me now, for us all, and we embrace her like an old friend, as though we might embrace a lost love.

She is the concubine of desperation, of need filled with want filled with restless hope.  She is what we cannot touch yet need desperately.  She is what we cannot see yet long to devour with our eyes.

She is change, longing, pain and joy.  And she knocks relentlessly even as her eyes consume us from without.

Soon her ways will be our ways, her unrest our unrest.  Soon…

Michelle Malkin is a bitch…

as well as a bigot, butthead, Byzantine boob, bitter blight, biased bully, bootlicker and bogus boss.

To use her thoughtless thinking against her, wouldn’t you presume she looks like a Zero, the kind of vicious, vile, vindictive vixen the likes of which was responsible for Pearl Harbor?  I bet she’s still sour over the war and is looking for a way to ruin the U.S. from within.

Why, yes, that must be it.  Michelle Malkin is a mindless minion of murderous marauders still absent-mindedly motivated to massacre Americans by means both minute and mocking of morality.

I bet she can deliver a message to Satan for me…when she gets to hell, I mean.

[I do so try to stay out of politics here, but this daft and devilish defilement of Dunkin’ Donuts due to a simple scarf is definitely dumb, disgusting, depraved, dreadful and deliberately deceptive; Michelle Malkin is as ignorant as she is asinine, and that says little of her malicious, malignant egomania]

Tree of life

After last year’s catastrophic outcome for the northern mockingbird (Mimus polyglottos) nest in my tree, the death of four nestlings did not dissuade a mockingbird couple from trying again this year.  Same couple?  I don’t know.

I’ve watched them flit into the tree quite a bit over the last few months.  At first I thought they came and went as they stole nesting materials from the various leftovers still held within its branches, but I realized I was wrong when over the last week or two I’ve noticed them bringing insects to the tree and leaving shortly thereafter—with no insect in tow.

Only today did I finally hear the first nestling as it responded to one of the parents landing nearby.  After both parents left, I saw a tiny bit of movement through the branches.  So I know at least one baby resides in the nest.

A northern mockingbird (Mimus polyglottos) perched in a tree (20080405_03138)

The parents watch me closely when I’m outside, and more importantly, they watch everything on the tree closely.  The other day I saw them violently expel a fox squirrel (Sciurus niger) who unwittingly climbed the trunk that would take it directly to the nest.  Both birds swept in and assaulted the rodent until it jumped from the tree, then they chased it for some distance, the squirrel running for all it was worth as the two avian combatants hit it repeatedly as they flew along with it.

A northern mockingbird (Mimus polyglottos) watching from the shadows of a tree (20080511_05162)

I don’t blame them for being so watchful, so adamant about protecting the nest.  The hatchling (or is it hatchlings?) must be quite young to have only recently found a voice.  And only recently did the parents begin delivering fresh meals.

My hope is that, unlike last year, the young bird or birds stay in the nest until they’re more capable of handling the outside world.  I’ll be watching closely to make note of their progress.

To add delight to the thriving community in this one little tree, yesterday I watched a male green anole (Anolis carolinensis) as he challenged me.  Yes, challenged me.  Each time I moved, he changed positions until he could face me directly, then he would do that marvelous little push-up maneuver with his impressive throat fan displayed.

A male green anole (Anolis carolinensis) displaying his throat fan from a tree (20080526_05819)

I tried finding a spot where I could watch him without challenging his manhood.  It didn’t work.  He kept a very close eye on me and waited for me to stop before he again started his display.

A male green anole (Anolis carolinensis) watching me from a tree (20080526_05824)

Why?  Apparently he already had his eyes on a young lass also scampering about the tree, one watching him closely to see just how far he was willing to go to stake his claim and win the prize.  I stepped inside briefly to fetch a beer, and when I returned to the patio I obviously had provided just enough of a respite for her to think him the winner of our encounter.

A mating pair of green anoles (Anolis carolinensis) in a tree (20080526_05854)

He did indeed win the prize, and I was happy for him as I didn’t particularly find her that attractive.  Pretty, yes, and fascinating to say the least, but she really wasn’t my type.

Oh, sorry for the gratuitous lizard sex.  Maybe I should have posted a warning.