Last April we took a trip to visit our son and daughter-in-law in Georgia. When we got home I started posting pictures on my blog of the places we visited, but never finished. Since I have a little time now I decided to post some more of our photos. (For anyone interested, the first batch of pictures started here.) The following pictures of boat-tailed grackles were captured at the Howard Gilman Memorial Park on the waterfront of St. Marys, Georgia. The park has a lovely large water fountain and on the day we visited it was doubling as a bird bath!
4.5.12 ~ St. Marys, Georgia
4.5.12 ~ St. Marys, Georgia
To claim, at a dead party, to have spotted a grackle, When in fact you haven’t of late, can do no harm. ~ Richard Wilbur (New & Collected Poems)
4.5.12 ~ St. Marys, Georgia
4.5.12 ~ St. Marys, Georgia
4.5.12 ~ St. Marys, Georgia
Few people know so clearly what they want. Most people can’t even think what to hope for when they throw a penny in a fountain. ~ Barbara Kingsolver (Animal Dreams)
4.5.12 ~ St. Marys, Georgia
4.5.12 ~ St. Marys, Georgia
4.5.12 ~ St. Marys, Georgia
Birds know themselves not to be at the center of anything, but at the margins of everything. The end of the map. We only live where someone’s horizon sweeps someone else’s. We are only noticed on the edge of things; but on the edge of things, we notice much. ~ Gregory Maguire (Out of Oz: The Final Volume in the Wicked Years)
I do an awful lot of thinking and dreaming about things in the past and the future – the timelessness of the rocks and the hills – all the people who have existed there. I prefer winter and fall, when you feel the bone structure in the landscape – the loneliness of it – the dead feeling of winter. Something waits beneath it – the whole story doesn’t show. I think anything like that – which is contemplative, silent, shows a person alone – people always feel is sad. Is it because we’ve lost the art of being alone? ~ Andrew Wyeth (LIFE, May 14, 1965)
“Connecticut Shore, Winter” by John Henry Twachtman
Searching my heart for its true sorrow, This is the thing I find to be: That I am weary of words and people, Sick of the city, wanting the sea;
Wanting the sticky, salty sweetness Of the strong wind and shattered spray; Wanting the loud sound and the soft sound Of the big surf that breaks all day.
Always before about my dooryard, Marking the reach of the winter sea, Rooted in sand and dragging drift-wood, Straggled the purple wild sweet-pea.
What a wee little part of a person’s life are his acts and his words! His real life is led in his head, and is known to none but himself. All day long, and every day, the mill of his brain is grinding, and his “thoughts,” not those other things, are his history. His acts and his words are merely the visible, thin crust of his world, with its scattered snow summits and its vacant wastes of water – and they are so trifling a part of his bulk! a mere skin enveloping it. The mass of him is hidden – it and its volcanic fires that toss and boil, and never rest, night, nor day. These are his life, and they are not written, and cannot be written. Every day would make a whole book of eighty thousand words – three hundred and sixty-five books a year. Biographies are but the clothes and buttons of the man – the biography of the man himself cannot be written. ~ Mark Twain (Studies in Biography)
Water Pearl Palace created by Dylan & Ted Gaffney 10.12.12 ~ Florence Griswold Museum, Old Lyme, Connecticut
10.12.12 ~ Old Lyme, Connecticut
Queen Moonstone and her sprites live in Water Pearl Palace built in the twisted roots of the giant sycamore tree. During the day they guard this mystical gateway to other worlds, but gather every evening to dance among the great boughs of the tree and along the rippling stream celebrating creativity. Within the many nooks and crannies of the subterranean palace, the sprites leave tokens found during their nightly travels. Visit on a full moon and witness their grand party when they assist all who seek their help. ~ Wee Faerie Village: Land of Picture Making
10.12.12 ~ Old Lyme, Connecticut
Every leaf speaks bliss to me Fluttering from the autumn tree. ~ Emily Brontë (The Complete Poems of Emily Jane Brontë)
10.12.12 ~ Old Lyme, Connecticut
People must believe what they can, and those who believe more must not be hard upon those who believe less. I doubt if you would have believed it all yourself if you hadn’t seen some of it. ~ George MacDonald (The Princess & The Goblin)
“Montreal Star” political cartoon by Arthur G. Racey
We are not just republicans or democrats, liberals or conservatives, moderates or extremists who have trouble finding or defining community. We are part of the great communion that embraces the living, the dead, and all who will come after us. Our ancestors – we share them if we go back far enough – have been rogues and heroes, courageous and cowardly, sung and unsung, hardworking and indolent, cruel and kind, mistaken and visionary. Ancestors are not just our blood kin, but the people whose beliefs, ideas, and creations have shaped us. Whether we know their names or not, they live in us as we will live in those who come after us, whether or not we have biological children. … As part of the preparation for voting – and as incentive to vote – we might do well to contemplate this communion, invoke the wisdom of the ancestors to help us keep faith with the descendants. ~ Elizabeth Cunningham (Tikkun Daily, October 26, 2010)
Everything is determined by forces over which we have no control. It is determined for the insect as well as for the star. Human beings, vegetables, or cosmic dust – we all dance to a mysterious tune, intoned in the distance by an invisible piper. ~ Albert Einstein (The Saturday Evening Post, October 26, 1929)
Go out of the house to see the moon, and’t is mere tinsel; it will not please as when its light shines upon your necessary journey. ~ Ralph Waldo Emerson (Nature)
We tap our toes to chaste love songs about the silvery moon without recognizing them as hymns to copulation. ~ Barbara Kingsolver (High Tide in Tucson)
The moon is quite a show off given the chance. The stars make a sound when they shine so bright. Water so blue and so black. ~ Dave Matthews (Twitter, February 16, 2009)
“Mrs. Cassatt Reading to Her Grandchildren” by Mary Cassatt
If history were taught in the form of stories, it would never be forgotten. ~ Rudyard Kipling (Rudyard Kipling, A Life)
I beg of you, you good people who want to hear stories told: look at this page and recognize the wisdom of my grandmother and of all old story-telling women! ~ Isak Dinesen (Last Tales)
The universe is made of stories, not of atoms. ~ Muriel Rukeyser (Out of Silence: Selected Poems)
