Three adult turkeys and six young crossed our yard. Where there used to be trees across the road, a developer denuded last spring. Are the turkeys just more visible now or are they feeling lost? Passing cars, even joggers along the sidewalk don't seem to notice, non-plussed. It is hard to know what to do about our planet's wounds. Fires of record-breaking magnitude have been burning in California this week. I come across the following:
" A wrong attitude toward nature implies, somewhere, a wrong attitude to God, and the consequence is an inevitable doom." T.S. Eliot
"God doesn't like a clearcut. It makes his heart turn cold, makes him wince and wonder what went wrong with creation, and sets him to thinking about what spoils the child.
You'd better be pretty sure that the cut is absolutely necessary and be at peace with it, so you can explain it to God, for it's fairly certain he's going to question your motives, want to know if your children are hungry and your oldest boy needs asthma medicine. -" Janisse Ray
Nothing the matter with this baby seal; he's just resting. There were three police officers making sure he had wide berth at North Hampton Beach early this morning. Swimming in the sea is hard work!
FULL COLD MOON KISS TONIGHT!
The December full moon is also known as "the long nights moon" and sometimes, "the moon before Yule." This year is special, the cold moon will end the year with a "planetary kiss" between Saturn and Venus (they will appear closer in the night sky - less than 2 degrees apart). At my house this hanky-panky will occur 12 minutes after midnight.
"And the stripes of the woolly bear caterpillar vary from one individual to another, year by year." - Hal Borland, Twelve Moons of the Year
Thankful for the Guardian publication of this! PROTECT RESTORE FUND
Now it is summer by the almanac. Summer came with the solstice this morning, when, to give "solstice" its literal meaning, the sun stood still. It was turning the corner of the seasons, and now it begins to move south again, as we say, toward fall and winter.
We are at the time of the longest daylight, earliest sunrise and latest sunset, which will continue with only a few seconds of change for another week. Time, if we would only pause and let it flow over us, for a little while partakes of the deliberation that is the mark of summer in almost everything except human affairs.
Spring has its own haste. Spring is sprouting and burgeoning, the opening of the leaf and the blossom. It is mating and birthing, the hatching of the egg, the spreading wing, the urgency of the bee and the wasp, the surge of green across the earth. Then the first rush is over, the trees are vast canopies of chlorophyll, the meadows tall with grass, the fields thick-bladed with corn and oats. June matures into summer, and the quiet process of growth for which April and May were a time of preparation. Summer becomes a summary of spring's achievement, a totaling of sun and rain and fertile soil added to the substance of the seed and the root.
The urgency of spring is past. The berries ripen in their own time. The bees replenish the hive. Clover comes to sweet blossom, then to seed. Daisies whiten the roadsides. Fireflies sparkle in the evenings. Time flows like the brooks that must have leisured through Eden when summer blessed a young and innocent earth.
A wee explanation: this website was created as a way to amplify the daily surprise of seeing glory in one small life. The notebook entries represented here are all selected from things actually lived and noted on paper in an effort to live the full life British educator Charlotte Mason so ably championed.