tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4956989639073843954.post4118776558444647338..comments2024-03-21T05:30:03.220-04:00Comments on Science teacher: In Irene's aftermathdoylehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12901661320505882735noreply@blogger.comBlogger3125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4956989639073843954.post-34747033641473028802011-09-05T20:30:22.471-04:002011-09-05T20:30:22.471-04:00Dear Kate,
Your story made me sad. The bird is no...Dear Kate,<br /><br />Your story made me sad. The bird is now real in my memory. Odd critters, we humans.<br /><br />And thanks for sharing Mr. Whitman. I have not read nearly enough of his words.doylehttps://www.blogger.com/profile/12901661320505882735noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4956989639073843954.post-11521739008750194312011-09-02T08:10:54.325-04:002011-09-02T08:10:54.325-04:00and if I may:
The spotted hawk swoops by and accus...and if I may:<br />The spotted hawk swoops by and accuses me, he complains of my gab and my loitering.<br /><br />I too am not a bit tamed, I too am untranslatable,<br />I sound my barbaric yawp over the roofs of the world.<br /><br />The last scud of day holds back for me,<br />It flings my likeness after the rest and true as any on the shadow’d wilds,<br />It coaxes me to the vapor and the dusk.<br /><br />I depart as air, I shake my white locks at the runaway sun,<br />I effuse my flesh in eddies, and drift it in lacy jags.<br /><br />I bequeath myself to the dirt to grow from the grass I love,<br />If you want me again look for me under your boot-soles.<br /><br />You will hardly know who I am or what I mean,<br />But I shall be good health to you nevertheless,<br />And filter and fibre your blood.<br /><br />Failing to fetch me at first keep encouraged,<br />Missing me one place search another,<br />I stop somewhere waiting for you.<br /><br />Section 52 - Song of Myself by Walt WhitmanKatehttp://tabor330.wordpress.comnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4956989639073843954.post-18527731167298406402011-09-02T07:31:11.046-04:002011-09-02T07:31:11.046-04:00When I crossed the Atlantic Ocean on a sailboat, a...When I crossed the Atlantic Ocean on a sailboat, a little land bird - a sparrow - found the aft cockpit on our last day before landfall. We were still a ways from land and he or she had been blown out to sea. Who knows how long it had been flying.<br /><br />It sat, exhausted, for hours, not caring that I kept coming back to look at it. When I came back that last time, it was dead. Still sitting, but now still. I consigned its body to the ocean, sadly, knowing that we had provided at least a restful place to expire.<br /><br />I still see that little bird. <br /><br />My garden is producing tomatoes and squash, and my youngest children began high school. I know that autumn is upon me.Katehttp://tabor330.wordpress.comnoreply@blogger.com