Photobombing and the Far Side

Well, I looked up this word “photobomb” and I was right. This wasn’t a word before, say, 2001. Developing film was just too expensive to tolerate some idiot jumping into your picture, bombing one of your precious 24 photos per roll.

Nowadays, everyone snaps a photo of their lunch, so who cares if picture seventeen of fifty eight of the same thing is bombed. Hysterical! Amusing at least!

For some reason, the idea of photobombing in my mind is connected to the cartoons of Gary Larson, who created some of the greatest single panel visual jokes in modern history, entitled as a group “The Far Side”.  Many of the cartoons feature animals in a human situation with an ironic twist related to their species characteristics. I am sure you remember him.  His career encompassed most of our late teens and young adulthood, generally a less serious time of life, so perhaps I was inclined to laugh more.

Well, actually I looked up a bunch of them on line and they are still very very funny.

I can’t reproduce them here, so I’ll have to tell and not show. Apparently Mr. Larson is distressed by seeing them used all over the internet without his permission. Fair enough.

In any case,  I  find myself especially amused by the bird  themed cartoons.  A duck bringing chicken soup to his indisposed duck friend tucked into bed, and saying “It’s no one we know”.  Two birds driving a Cadillac, one complaining of the sun and her “migration headache”.   Birds human-watching, with binoculars and maps.

Hahahahahaha.

It was hard not to think of the Larson cartoons when I took this photograph:DSCN1522.JPG

This bird, in true Larson-esque fashion, believes in his heart of hearts that if he stands very very very still and sticks his beak up in the air, he will be mistaken for grass.

“Point your beak up straighter Jeffrey! Your sister really looks like grass, try to be more like her!”

One of the  problems with this bird is that he SOUNDS (and I do say “he”) like a belching walrus when springtime arrives, which sort of gives away the “look like some grass” strategy, in my mind.  Of course I am not a predator of this bird,  but consider that another animal might be. Will the predators overlook some grass that sounds like a belching walrus?  I have some doubt about that. Maybe the risk is worth it for the right gal.

“Oh Jeffrey, every time you go by that girl’s family nest you give away your position! Do you expect to LIVE to reproduce?”

In case you were wondering, this bird is called the American Bittern. I have no idea why and haven’t googled it.

Then there are the Far Side reminders that are a side effect of my limited photo taking experience.

A personal challenge for me as I venture into bird photography has been getting more than one species in a photo. Somehow this goal reflects a personal photo-bio-diversity that I want, or maybe I am biting off more than I can chew, not an unfamiliar tendency in my life. This early effort below resulted in what can only be described as a Far Side cartoon brought to life.

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“Barbara! Barbara! Did you get my picture with EVIE EGRET? IN the SAME PHOTO?!! OH MY GOD!”

Damn photobomber! The nerve!

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Birds and not much about flight mechanics

Well it’s been awhile, and most of that time has been ridiculously spent preparing my home for the next owner. Why work so hard for someone you’ll never know?I have a ridiculous amount of resentment regarding the fact that THINGS WEAR OUT whether or not you use them. But the carpet was certainly used, and the oven.

Home repair is another full time job even if YOU DON”T DO THE WORK YOURSELF.

Anyway, boring. Everyone does it.

In the in between spaces I’m trying to get over my disappointment with humanity and their dwellings by socializing more with my oldest living relative, my horse, and with BIRDS, the descendants of the most awesome creatures, ever..Dinosaurs.

Birds are a-okay. They are the living dinosaurs.RSCN1087.JPG

I mean what is this? They say it’s a heron, but isn’t it a pterodactyl?

I starting looking at birds when my daughter and I met up in Florida for a trip. There was some dry land back then in Florida, in the Spring of one-seven, and we took a look around the Everglades. We saw some interesting birdsDSCN9670.JPG

Can you believe it? I took this photo with my silly little camera. It’s an osprey.DSCN9680.JPG

This is my best picture of a roseate spoonbill, AKA pink dinosaur. I mean come on. That is a pink dinosaur.

Then I thought, well, maybe I don’t need to mourn the dinosaurs. Maybe they are right here.

I’m sure there’s some connection here to the physics of flight for our blog continuity, but my astronautical engineering is more than a little shaky.  What I know so far is that some birds are super fliers, some are just okay, and some are not able to fly at all. I like perched birds. I don’t have a good camera for flying birds. You might have noted that with the pterodactyl photo.

I have also learned that humans wreck things for birds (what a shocking surprise) and some of them are very clever and learn how to hide from us or get away from us. Good for them. I’m all for birds evading homo sapiens and his arsenals. Ironically, if you are a  member of the hostile homo S. only hoping to catch a glimpse, you must adopt the tricks of the hunter by hiding yourself and “shooting” pictures. For example, in this photo the sandhill cranes are pretty much hidden.DSCN0739.JPG

On the other hand, some birds take a counter phobic approach, i.e. accept reality and the total dominance of humans.  These not so rare members of the bird family know which side the Wonderbread is buttered on. You better get a good photo, they practically pose for you.

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In case you think I never got a better photo of the cranes, I’ll give you this one:RSCN0781.JPG

Which suggests I can both hide and use the Zoom function on the camera, I didn’t want you to think I can’t run and hide. Or just hide.

My last observation for today relates more to human behavior than bird behavior. Watching birds is an obsessive habit. You can tell that by noting that people interested in birds do a lot of counting of bird species so they can say with authority how many different types of birds they have laid eyes on. These people (and I am becoming one of them, I fear) are only encouraged by professional ornithologists to keep up this habit because it provides precious data about how many birds we haven’t yet managed to kill or run out of town or woodland areas. I have officially counted 41 species as of today myself. I’ve seen more, but it’s unofficial, so it doesn’t count.

I am a woman of honor.

Next up: Lying, the Far Side, odd photo captions I think about but have nowhere to put but here, and more

 

Properties of Energy

 

 

I write to you tonight because I’m thinking about energy.  The energy of my young daughter planning her wedding….the idea we’ve been bouncing back and forth of creating a beautiful party.   She wants teacups full of flowers, fairy lights, and fountains, a lace dress, a garden space, something outside….. and maybe some gypsy music, which makes my heart so happy I could dance a gypsy dance. With scarves.   We just got back from Boulder, so we’ve been in the car for a few hours today, and I’m feeling my age.

I remember your wedding and mine, the endless expensive champagne at yours, the rain and the tent at mine, no Chandon, but quirky and lovely….and I wish you were there!  I’m overwhelmed.  I want her to have expensive champagne!  We were so young. How did I plan a wedding?  It was quite beautiful to my memory. That’s what love will do….  And it is sad to have memory touched with what was broken, but that –that is life, always the imperfection….I suppose. That’s what makes our species survive, our imperfection. The flaws in our genes.

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Our genes were lucky.  We were so lucky, with great moms and family, and like a lady from “the handmaid’s tale,” I keep getting caught a little in that past.  Better to think of the beautiful things from my youth and my young marriage.   Of trout streams and walking in wildflowers, the land where I knew their names…the wild geranium, desert bluebells, the asters, Indian paintbrush, skyrockets. I wanted to be married there, by the little Colorado.  Still, my Iowa City wedding was amazing – cake and mismatched china, the car decorated and dragging cans, and we were so in love.

It’s good to have those memories…the ones time hasn’t tarnished like old silver or corroded like a rusty old truck where the photographer’s capture the bride in a posed moment that never really happened at these crazy expensive wedding venues.  (We looked at several and received the full sales pitch.)   I didn’t get married in a church– but outside, which is pretty much my church….so that is holy, no?  I have never wanted to be a smother-mother, a control freak…so maybe I’ve done my kids a disservice by not letting them rebel so much against me.  But I want this to be all hers.   It is so nice to see her happiness and thoughts and that she’ll share them with me.

Oh as I was young and easy in the mercy of his means,
Time held me green and dying
Though I sang in my chains like the sea. – Dylan Thomas

I want to capture something of what you wrote, about starlight, about beauty and witness.  I am not sure there is time to put it all down, or to make my own dreams happen. Strangely, a friend of mine texted me in the middle of the night and he asked me what I feared.  I told him that I am not afraid of anything–maybe morbid things and stupid things.  I meant it….but when I think about it more deeply, the truth I think is that time is now what scares me.  Will I have my cabin in the woods before I am too old to want to live in it?   It makes me a little teary though, to see how beautiful it is to be young on a weary day.

Again, maybe it’s a pep-talk, or just an observation, but as far as I know we live this once. I’m putting up the fairy lights in the backyard.  Counting blessings.  I noticed something is going on with you and wild birds?

I anxiously wait for your response.  It is much easier not to do things alone.  Or at least to have someone out there who will laugh with you, and maybe help you plan for a party.

j

Daily prompt

Stardust Melody

From which stars have we fallen to meet each other here?”  Nietzsche

I trudged across a snowy parking lot this morning and could not help but think of Zhivago, the poet at the time of revolution.  The writer Pasternak caught that moment in time.  The snow deep and then shallow, snow blowing into my scarf, into my eyes, seeing only my shoes….the snow gradually breaking into a muddy road.   Zhivago, with the soft eyes of the poet,  Zhivago, the doctor who loved and lost, Zhivago, who looking out across the Russian plains saw the summer fields of grasses and flax, thistle and wheat; in winter, the dark forests looming at the edge of meadows.  Zhivago who heard the grey wolves calling and saw them gather at his cabin in the dawn of early morning.  And Zhivago who saw the blood of Revolution splatter on his fields, in his forests, dark red blood falling on the white, white snow.  The poet who could not catch Laura and whose heart grabbed him with a fatal crushing blow.  Zhivago, who in the middle of a war zone saw only her.  Because love is what matters.

“…the rest is rust and stardust.”   Nabokov

Say Goodbye – Lindsey Buckingham

When things are overwhelming, when things happen of great magnitude, I think it must be better to look at something small, something   familiar, or something small and close, like dust:  tiny flecks floating in the sunlight of a window.  Or dandelions, dandelions seeds that float like wishes….or to think about the tiny dust mites that make me sneeze.  The horizon is too much.  For instance, when I look at the vastness of the sky, or think of the force that made our giant mountains, the burning of the sun, and the magnetic pull of the planets, the pull of the moon at the tides, the spirits of thousands whose lives were cut short before their time, the governments of the world– maybe it’s best to turn to the small things: the tiny particles, the quick smile, the blades of grass, the first glance of lovers, the laughter of friends, a chocolate chip cookie, a smooth rock on the ground.  If you blink you’ll see it.

You ask if I am angry, and I don’t have an answer.  He was my friend.  Just my friend.  But can the word friend be modified by “just?”   The first week after his death lasted a year…a lot of swearing —that he didn’t have to hear of my death, and he was not there to call.  Now I’d say I’m just astonished.  Sometimes panicked.  More than anything this weirdness… no trip to Asheville, no Fitzgerald, no Zelda.   We could’ve discussed madness and love….and now I’m left talking to myself.

I think of my own dying – will I savor each dying blink, each blink something holy?  With one blink a sunset, the next a wildflower, another a mountain stream?….or racked with pain, just colors and patterns…?  The latter much more likely.

We weren’t lovers, just good friends.  Maybe we’ve been friends for thousands of years, the Spock and Kirk of Athens.  (Or wait, that’s Pam and Janet).  We were more like Laurel & Hardy I think, cheering each other into comedy.   When he came to town we talked about physics –  Star Trek gadgets, the speed of change, the Higgs particle, biotech and wine.  We discussed Baudelaire and Bukowski,  Dali and Chagall… reincarnation and Catholicism…also cars and grocery shopping.  You see, I always looked forward to seeing him again.

Woodstock 

I was lucky.  So how can I be angry when I was so lucky?  I am not sure I’ve even processed it at all. And if I go deep, well it’s panic.

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I wanted to talk about Joni Mitchell, “We are stardust, we are golden, and we’ve got to get back to the garden…”  or Woody Guthrie, “this guitar kills fascists.”   I’d forgotten that you’d seen the concentration camps, and a memorial now comes to you.  I think we must stand up like Woody Guthrie…. but mostly it’s about love. I’m tired of division, of seeing how we’re different.  Let’s see how we’re alike, at least a little. One of the last things we talked about after election night, was what to do now?  He said “Right now I don’t even know what to do,”  I said “spread kindness.”  He said “that’s a very Buddhist response, Ms. Chaos. ”  I don’t talk like that.  I’ve never said “spread kindness.”  What the hell?  I must be so tired.  Just sick and tired.  Let’s be hippies.  I just watched the musical Hair.

Have you noticed the massive amount of brightly colored birds on the internet recently?  I just came across the “Golden Pheasant.”    I mention this because it’s just amazing and it’s better than anything I’ve ever written.  A silly bird…so much better than a poem.  So many colors for one bird.   And Kevin, he’d have liked a random bird on this page.  (Also we must not forget the Snow Geese. Since everyone else has.  Who will monitor the SuperFund sites? )

Click to see it walking.   Golden Pheasant   – we are stardust/we are golden…pheasants.

golden-pheasant-1

The universe gives me all kinds of reasons for his death…he was under stress…he didn’t exercise enough…Trump got elected…the idea that when your “number is up,”  your number is up.  None of these are suitable reasons.    I go underwater if I  think too deeply about it.  My brain goes away as if I’m playing a deep game of poker, as Ferlinghetti would say, “Deep Chess.”  His friends tell me we’ll meet again in another life.   It’s not a bad thought…but just as massive and inconceivable….like  starlight, light years away, reflecting our sun, traveling across the universe into our eyes.  Blinking, soft, blinding.

What stars have we fallen from..?  We are all fallen angels trying to save each other when the demons come.  Dust of stars, dust of angels.  All this leads me to think of mortality, walking through walls, monasteries, Zhivago, the sudden brilliance of the sky, the sky more brilliant since his loss.  The nightly news rages on….and in what world do we dismantle the EPA?  In what world do we push through an oil pipeline without an Environmental Impact Study?  In what world do we separate immigrant children from their parents?  I can hardly watch the news right now, but can’t take my eyes off of it.   I walk through the unpolluted mountain streams of my youth, the cornflowers and black-eyed Susan pushing through the branches of willows.

Kevin was always leaving, the minute I knew him he moved away, we rarely spent time in the same city.  I am so sorry still at the loss of your friend, the one you lost so long ago, so much more immediate and hard.  I never knew how to make it any better.  I think they’re here with us in one way or another.  In spirit, as they say.

 I remember that when one falls in love, every song is about love.  I’ve dated too many musicians.   I didn’t date Kevin and he wasn’t a musician.  You see how great that is, right?   Now the radio mocks me…. plus I have this CD of goodbye songs from the last time he moved away.  After ten days, I’m now putting it away.

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 A few mornings ago, on the way to work,  a sundog rose above miles of prairie, changing as the clouds intersected it, moved it higher in the sky, making the blue deeper, the red brighter, the green darker…a vertical rainbow…until it disappeared, pushed away by clouds, but headed to the sun.  So cliché, my friend, I know– but still…. it was there.

 I understand how it’s easy to be scattered right now.  I want to be like the light, like the split light of prism…each color called out to reveal itself, each one brighter than the next.  Focused and brilliant and beautiful until I die.  Let’s be that.
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overwhelming

*  Stardust – Nat King Cole * Stardust – Michael Buble * Stardust – Frank Sinatra

j

Escape velocity, II…or Escape velocity, aye-aye you might say

We are hunkered down here in Colorado too, against the wind rather than the snow.  My town has recently recorded record-breaking 101 mph wind gusts.  No escape from the wind here, nothing to protect us from blowing debris or falling branches.  Best to stay inside. Maybe we need to move to Mexico close to the equator if we want to escape.  The earth itself can give us a push.  Did you know satellites are launched at the equator to use the spin of the earth to help them take flight?  Anything on the surface of the Earth at the equator is already moving at 1670 kilometers per hour.

You tell me that even Lewis and Clark were trapped by the storms, and all they had seen and mapped might have been lost had it gotten any worse.  Didn’t they draw all kinds of animals as well as mapping the mountain and rivers?   Species of birds and animals the East Coast had never seen before. And on the request of Jefferson – practically a king.    I think it’s a good thing to be reminded we’re not kings, even they were just as much trapped by the weather as a simple animal, even a bird for example, maybe a Snow Goose.  (Still no follow-up news on the 10,000 dead geese at the SuperFund site.)  Even if we were kings, (I prefer that we talk about queens, sick of kings with their narcissism and hate. Besides queens often had more power than kings, they wear the pants -except Henry the 8th with his quest for a male heir-  and who wants to talk about old men with power?)   even if we were kings, we can’t control the great raging force of wind and weather.  But we can pay close attention, so not to be trapped in a caustic lake.

In the way that one click  leads to another, I started searching for escape velocity and ended with a term in physics called “flutter,” or more correctly “aeroelastic flutter.”    It is apparently a term meaning the beginning of the absolute collapse of everything.    See the Tacoma Narrows bridge video of 1940:   https://vimeo.com/13323591

Not only is the bridge in the 1940 video acting as if it were a simple string in the wind, rippling like a wave in water, but there is an act of human bravery involved.  Rather, a brave man in a hat.   In the video, (in 1940 it was actually a 16mm camera) a man goes back on the swaying bridge, to retrieve a cocker spaniel left in an abandoned car.   The terrified dog bites him and cannot be rescued.   I wish he had been able to get the dog.  I suppose that only happens in Hollywood.   I’d like to be able to do that…to have enough faith or stupidity to think that I wouldn’t be dragged to my demise.  I also need to start wearing hats.  The video is hypnotizing, as we know that the ultimate destruction is eminent.

When I was a girl, I helped my older brothers to build epoxy bridges for a college class they all took, a class they all dreaded in turn:  Fluid dynamics.   It was very math intensive, and the final was a project constructing a bridge.  On their way to becoming chemical engineers, each in turn tried to create the bridge that would hold the most weight.  It was built out of epoxy and toothpicks.  I would dip the toothpick in glue and hand it to my brother, and he would strategically place it according to a design he had to come up with.  So, maybe that’s why a woman writer likes physics. Maybe we quickly connected physics and art.  I think you helped build epoxy bridges too.  If not then, now.

“Beauty for some provides escape, who gain a happiness in eyeing the gorgeous buttocks of the ape or Autumn sunsets exquisitely dying. “   — Langston Hughes  

I quote Langston Hughes this MLK day. My thought is that perhaps writing is an escape into the mind, an escape from some of the horrors or boredom of the real world.  He says in the quote it is “Beauty for some provides escape”, so perhaps writing is the study of Beauty.  I like that he mentioned the gorgeous buttocks of the ape.  If he lived now, would he have said the “ape exquisitely dying, and the eyeing of the Autumn sunset?”  In writing from the human spirit, there is no black or white.   As I look out the window, beauty is a study of wind.

“I took up writing to escape the drudgery of that every day cubicle kind of war.” –Walter Mosley

So it all  comes down to the Clash.  Should I stay or should I go?   See how much we learned in high school?  If I go there will be trouble, if I stay it will be double.    When playing poker, I’ve been told, the correct answer is always: It depends.   

Sometimes it seems the flutter happens so quickly there isn’t enough time for an escape plan.  (See: dog in car.)  I think we’ve both seen women in abusive relationships who need a plan to get out.  That was my first thought when you mentioned escape velocity, something to be overcome.  Not just the gravity of the earth, but the gravity of a situation.  Nothing is ever simple, and leaving is also about surviving….about escaping a violent man she has deeply hurt or offended –by the act of leaving itself….it can be tricky.  Sometimes the flutter will follow her.  Escape is about money,  timing, surviving on one’s own.   It’s about admitting the mistake and facing the unknown.  It’s about putting your own survival above others, and sometimes that affects the children, children who you love more than yourself, even your dog.   I get mad when people don’t understand how abused women can stay with an abusive man.

I mean, it’s easy to see that Life (with a capital “L”) has a way of throwing you into entanglements.  I was never with an abuser, but I was with a guy who wanted to tangle me into his failing bridge, asking me to watch him drink himself to death.  Even now, after his death, I still feel that I did not escape that devastation. But few of us escape unscathed.  I guess the lucky ones just escape with a dog bite.  Part of me loves that escape of the soul, that drunken charisma, the carefree-doesn’t -matter-what-happens life.  Maybe when you’re trapped, its better to live in the moment.  You know, the gypsy soul.  It’s way too early to drink, so I turn to Baudelaire.

It is the hour to be drunken! to escape being the martyred slaves of time, be ceaselessly drunk. On wine, on poetry, or on virtue, as you wish. —Charles Baudelaire

What is happening in the news is alarming, and I think we are all sort of watching to see if and in what direction things are beginning to sway.  Even tall buildings allow for a little sway, and we have a constitution to protect us.  Signs and all indications have us worried that things are going wrong. At least for me, the swaying began the minute that a President was caught on tape talking about grabbing women.   That sway made me pretty nauseous.  I’m hoping it’s not as bad as it seems, and in four more short years, we’ll find a different bridge to travel, but as they say, we can cross that when we come to it.  Hopefully it won’t be in the middle of aero-elastic flutter.

A marathon of writing…

a response to Escape Velocity

Waves as Wings, or Water as Dark Matter

 via Daily Prompt: Folly

Seabirds walk along the pier.  The beach is rocky or you’d be barefoot.   I’m stuck here working in a chilly room.  Temperatures falling.  I’ve borrowed a blanket and put on gloves.  I’m looking forward to your return, your warmth and  optimism.    My friend, you watch waves under a bright white sun, the sky for once not the usual grey.    

“May your trails be crooked, winding, lonesome, dangerous, leading to the most amazing view. May your mountains rise into and above the clouds.” ~Edward Abbey

I noticed on BBC World news last week the story of thousands of Snow Geese in Montana.  Just a small story at the bottom of the U.S. section.  It’s said, “Thousands of Snow Geese Dead.”  It’s been 3 days, and no further news.  CNN reports the story a day later as “hundreds” of geese.  I am waiting for a public outcry. I am waiting for more stories.  I’m waiting for the final count.  Will there be a follow up report?   Likely not.  The local Montana newspaper said there were about 10,000 birds.   Imagine it.

 With a storm behind them, 10,000 snow geese fly fast seeking a large body of water for sanctuary.  They find themselves at the Berkeley Pitt mine near Butte, Montana, a former copper mine, a Superfund site.  They lock wings, gliding down and down onto the surface of the shimmering water.  They swim in the quiet, they clean their dusty feathers.  They stick their long necks into the murky water and drink deeply.  A few perish immediately.  The crew at the SuperFund site fire shots to try to scare the birds away.  They blast noise cannons.  But there are too many birds.  The workers are frightened that there are so many birds.  They know what will happen.  Nothing survives the lake.  They have seen the birds die before, but they have never seen this many land before.   One man, runs, runs for the rifles to try and stop them.  Nothing stops them.  Many begin to wash up on shore. After the first onslaught of birds, only a few of the geese remain swimming on the lake. They manage to stay alive for several days.  How long before they, too, perish?

 So far, we don’t know just how many just fell into the lake and won’t be counted, and how many flocks flew to the wilderness and fell out of the sky, never to be found.  Their carcasses eaten by coyotes, coyotes who in turn die from their poisoned throats.  The water is so acidic, it’s been reported that it would dissolve the steel rotor of a boat.   I’m feeling waves of nausea at the thought of thousands of dead snow geese.  They are beautiful snow white birds with black-tipped wings.   People have made the point that these birds are not endangered.   I would like to shout that this is no way for thousands of living beings to die.  Imagine them as puppies.  Facebook puppies.  Thousands of puppies who drink Drano.  Would this be acceptable to the masses?  Would they not be horrified?  10,000 puppies would bring how many “views”?  10,000 snow geese bring very few. 

 “Nature may reach the same result in many ways. Like a wave in the physical world, in the infinite ocean of the medium which pervades all, so in the world of organisms, in life, an impulse started proceeds onward, at times, may be, with the speed of light, at times, again, so slowly that for ages and ages it seems to stay, passing through processes of a complexity inconceivable to men, but in all its forms, in all its stages, its energy ever and ever integrally present. A single ray of light from a distant star falling upon the eye of a tyrant in bygone times may have altered the course of his life, may have changed the destiny of nations, may have transformed the surface of the globe, so intricate, so inconceivably complex are the processes in Nature. In no way can we get such an overwhelming idea of the grandeur of Nature than when we consider, that in accordance with the law of the conservation of energy, throughout the Infinite, the forces are in a perfect balance, and hence the energy of a single thought may determine the motion of a universe.”   ― Nikola Tesla

 These are dark times, troubled times.   The BBC reports the news of the decline of the giraffe, that elephants too are in danger.  There are massive die offs of the coral reefs.  The reefs are white with death. Hundreds of whales and crabs have beached themselves.  The bees are dying.   The frogs are in decline.  Is it all true, are we entering a time of mass extinctions?

“You may live to see man-made horrors beyond your comprehension.” ― Nikola Tesla

The waves of the tide are tied to the gravity of the moon.   The migration of birds to the proximity of the sun.  Up to Canada they fly, and then back again South, year after year like waves across time.  But we can see the world changing.  In my backyard, fewer birds roost in the trees.  The scientists report that the seas warm, ice caps melt.  The coral dies, turns dirty white.  The salmon do not make it all the way home.   The moon is very close and very large, as if to say, “I cannot be ignored.  I will light the sky, brighter than you have seen for a century.  Look at me, lunatics, watch me! You’re tied to me the way the stars are tied to night.”

Everyone I know is on edge since the election.  Our President-elect is an unknown.  I’ve always believed the best thing to do when the world is going wrong is to go outside, listen to the wind in the trees, become aware of the moon.  But I’m starting to wonder:  how long will we hear frogs croaking, bees buzzing, the songs of the meadow birds?   We may soon genetically modify the mosquito.  (good, doubt it.  I mean, how do you control a mosquito if it gets screwed up?)

“To stand at the edge of the sea, to sense the ebb and the flow of the tides, to feel the breath of a mist moving over a great salt marsh, to watch the flight of shore birds that have swept up and down the surf lines of the continents for untold thousands of years, to see the running of the old eels and the young shad to the sea, is to have knowledge of things that are as nearly eternal as any earthly life can be.” ~Rachel Carson

Light and pain seem to travel in waves, like alternating current.  Sleep and dreams are interrupted.   Nature doesn’t give us many straight lines, but circles or patterns.  Fibonacci spirals.  Even pain comes in waves, see: childbirth or toothache, we are given a reprieve before the next spasm.   Sometimes there are rogue waves.  Sometimes there are hopeful deviations.  Sometimes there are terrifying tsunamis.  Light waves and seismic waves flow soundlessly across the earth.  Real earthquakes are attributed to real fracking.  Our children can’t afford college, our college adjuncts can’t afford health care, our health care workers can’t afford prescriptions.

In Phoenix, where we grew up, we braced for monsoons, giant dust storms from the Superstition mountains raising up dark in the sky and visible from a great distance, followed by torrential rain.  It was a crazy desert landscape where we could see for miles into the distance.  Sometimes the storms weren’t so bad, they traveled the city outskirts and veered away.  I feel this strange stagnation in our country right now…like nothing can be done, like everyone is holding their breath.  We can’t see anything in the distance. The calm before the storm is a misnomer, it’s more like the feeling of running in place, or screaming without sound.  Shutter the windows, get out the battery powered radio.  Find the candles.  Brace yourself, stock up on water and ramen…pay your bills.  It’s an eerie quiet.  Instead of a view of the mountains, we seem to be in a ravine, a slot canyon, further away a flash flood may bring raging waters to our feet.

“Certain periods in history suddenly lift humanity to an observation point where a clear light falls upon a world previously dark.” ~Anne Sullivan

Unlike the sweet arctic geese, let’s fly safely through the present and beyond the reach of any storm, avoiding the lethal waste that humanity has created, into a figurative refuge anyway.  Remember the Snow geese and be careful.  It seems that no one cares about the slightly winged, the distant deaths.  Thankfully we’re not in Flint Michigan drinking lead-contaminated water.  There’s got to be a way through this mess.

New York Times article

My conundrum, I promise, my next post will be funny and happy.  I can’t wait. Actually, I can’t wait for yours.