Sunday, November 12, 2017

Wednesday
8 November 2017


— Eight bird feeders loaded to their tops!

Good Morning All,

From recent incoming:

This was one of the history entries for 6 November: 1528: Spanish Conquistador Álvar Núñez Cabeza de Vaca first European to step on Texas.  One of Peace Corps cohorts, one of the two or three best siSwati speaker among us, and also apparently fluent in Spanish, wrote: Seriously? Cabeza de Vaca? "Cow's Head?" And a lousy sailor to boot. (Señor Cow’s Head not only stepped on Texas, but managed to wreck his ship upon it.)

(Reminding me of old joke: A captain of a U.S. Destroyer sneaks his lady friend aboard. While they are kissing in the wheel the house, the boat plows up onto the beach. The lady is quoted as saying: “He grounds the war ship I walk on.)

Several people commented on the about in yesterday’s quote: “It is eternity now. I am in the midst of it. It is about me in the sunshine. I am in it as the butterfly in the light-laden air. Nothing has to come; it is now.” 

Here’s one that says what I was trying to suggest, but failing to do so: "Tao, as you likely know, means 'the way', or more broadly the way things are, the way things happen, the way it is. Understanding, peace of mind, and all that is achieved by observing the way, becoming a part of it, and moving with the way things are, not standing apart at a some intellectual distance, and certainly not moving against it. 'It is eternity now. I am in the midst of it. It is about me in the sunshine,' therefore reads to me as one who is moving with the way.  It is not about being surrounded, it is about becoming immersed and becoming a one with all."

Our correspondent in Bayonne (if he is still in Bayonne) sent back one of my puns: As the Hindu said to the hotdog vendor, "make me one with everything.”

November got two responses: 

One from our correspondent in Detroit: "Grayvember is what I call the month—typified by a November we once had with only eight hours of sunshine. It starts with color and ends in gray bleakness. Five months of wintery weather, heavy coats, ice-caked windshields, and slush lie ahead. The only consolation is the occasional burst of sunny warmth that may steal a day or two from winter.  And now we, do not we, fellow traveler, enter the November of our lives?"  

One from our correspondent in Saratoga: "Assuming that LB is the Detroit representative - I would have called him "correspondent" in the tradition of reporting from the front lines - I would like to share with you both that November is THE premier month to be in southwest FL. Night temps in the high 50s with doors and windows open to the sounds of the frogs and owls. Daytime temps in the high 70s (Fahrenheit, it goes without saying though Celsius is probably only a matter of time).#

Okay, here’s my November sonnet. The penultimate word might be the one I’ve been losing sleep over. Maybe not. I never know anything about a poem for sure. But it’ll do for now:

New England November
Bheka Pierce

December, January, February, say my Yankee friends,
We enjoy our heroic moans of winter never ending;
March brings the thaw and April daffodils for fun,
Glorious May and June basking in the noonday sun;
July and August ice tea, hammocks beneath the trees,
September and October’s yellow, orange, crimson leaves;
November bereft of anything to bring delight
Arrives in damp and chill to usher in a barren blight.

And yet this month’s solemnity speaks to me profound.
The great migrations south have left this silver hush,
The leaves a vast somber carpet across the open ground,
A thorough silence missing even Thomas Hardy’s  thrush.
As I tramp these woodland paths in quiet solitude,
I give thanks to God or not with transcendent gratitude.

Go Well and Stay Well,

Bhekaron

P.S. Two Holly snaps:
 

 

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