Overhearing a conversation in the market about the return of the butterflies to Natural Bridges, we decided to brave the stormy weather ~ hoping the gods would grant a brief reprieve just for us ~ and see, for the first time, Santa Cruz’ version of San Juan Capistrano’s return of the swallows.
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We’ve all watched kids laughing at a joke, then asking that the joke be retold, and laughing again just as heartily the second time, and finally entreating us to retell the same joke. Somehow, for young children, on the third recounting (if it happens at all), the joke remains as new and funny as the first time it was told.
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In celebration of the life of Howard Zinn
To be hopeful in bad times is not just foolishly romantic. It is based on the fact that human history is a history not only of cruelty, but also of compassion, sacrifice, courage, kindness.
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Myself when young did eagerly frequent
Doctor and Saint, and heard great argument
About it and about: but evermore
Came out by the same door where in I went.
~ From The Rubaiyat of Omar Khayyam
Translation by Edward Fitzgerald
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A new acquaintance of mine has a tailgate full of philosophy … the kind that makes you think for a while. The kind that takes time to sink in.
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The answer is YES! like never before. But what is this froth, anyway?
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The Flower, so small, whose sweet fragrance fills the air,
Dispels with glorious splendor the darkness everywhere.
German translation:
Das Blümelein, so kleine, das duftet uns so süss,
Mit seinem hellen Scheine vertreibt’s die Finsternis.
From the German carol: “Es ist ein Ros entsprungen” ~ Anonymous
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Borrowing from Jean-Paul Sartre’s statement: To read a poem in January is as lovely as to go for a walk in June, I venture to say that: To view photography of natural beauty in January is as lovely as to go for a walk in June, particularly when one is perusing spectacular collections like those of Brother Alfred Brousseau.
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People the world over are fascinated by the power of Nature. And I count myself as fascinée aussi.
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Attracting flights of robins to the Santa Cruz Mountains, the sweet reddish-orange berries of the Pacific madrone, ripening to fullness in December and January, fall abundantly to the forest floor.
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