What an astonishing thing a book is. It’s a flat object made from a tree with flexible parts on which are imprinted lots of funny dark squiggles. But one glance at it and you’re inside the mind of another person, maybe somebody dead for thousands of years. Across the millennia, an author is speaking clearly and silently inside your head, directly to you.
Carl Sagan (1934 – 1996) was an American astronomer, planetary scientist and science communicator.
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We ask for peace. We, at the bound
O life, are weary of the round
In search of Truth. We know the quest
Is not for us, the vision blest
Is meant for other eyes. Uncrowned,
We go, with heads bowed to the ground,
And old hands, gnarled and hard and browned.
Let us forget the past unrest,—
We ask for peace.
Our strainéd ears are deaf,—no sound
May reach them more; no sight may wound
Our worn-out eyes. We gave our best,
And, while we totter down the West,
Unto that last, that open mound,—
We ask for peace.
Angelina Weld Grimké (1880 –1958) was an African-American journalist, teacher, playwright, and poet.
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I’m thrilled to announce that my photo of these boxing young Kangaroo Island kangaroos was a finalist in the 2024 Pangolin Wildlife Photography Challenge‘s “Out of Africa” category.
I captured this photo while on a trip to Kangaroo Island, a beautiful and unique place in South Australia. It is one of my absolute favorite photos of the year, and it’s an honor to have it recognized among so many beautiful entries.
The kangaroos in the photo are Kangaroo Island kangaroos, a subspecies of the Western Grey Kangaroo (Macropus fuliginosus). Because of their long period of isolation from mainland Australia, the KI kangaroos are pretty different from the Western Grey kangaroos. They’re shorter, darker, and much cuter if you ask me!
I’m thrilled to have made it among the finalists. There were so many talented photographers and beautiful photos submitted. I’m honored to be included among them. Thanks to everyone who supported me!
I hope this photo helps remind people of how important it is to protect and preserve our wildlife and helps to raise awareness and appreciation for these amazing animals. Every animal has a unique story and deserves to be appreciated and respected.
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February has been a tough month: dark and gloomy, with a few snowflakes here and there. We took a quick trip to Northern Sweden in search of some sun and snow, as well as some wildlife photography opportunities. 😁 I haven’t had a chance to process many images from that trip yet; I just finished culling them, but I couldn’t wait to share these two photos of a beautiful female lynx. Isn’t she stunning? I’m looking forward to sharing more photos from the trip soon!
Here are a couple of squirrel photos from two years ago. As I mentioned earlier, we haven’t seen much snow this year. I was hoping to capture some “squirrels in the snow” photos, but I haven’t had any luck so far. There’s still a chance for snow, of course, but I’m tired of winter now and honestly don’t want any more snow. I’m ready for spring! How is the season treating you?
This is a new edit of a lion portrait I worked on a few months ago. While I was initially pleased with the first version, the idea of making a more dramatic edit kept coming to mind—I just couldn’t let it go! So, I decided to re-process the image, and I’m really happy with the final result.
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Poetry is not a luxury. It is a vital necessity of our existence. It forms the quality of the light within which we predicate our hopes and dreams toward survival and change, first made into language, then into idea, then into more tangible action. Poetry is the way we help give name to the nameless so it can be thought. The farthest horizons of our hopes and fears are cobbled by our poems, carved from the rock experiences of our daily lives.
Audre Lorde (1934 – 1992) was an American writer, professor, philosopher, intersectional feminist, poet and civil rights activist.
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I do not care for sleep, I’ll wait awhile
For Love to come out of the darkness, wait
For laughter, gifted with the frequent fate
Of dusk-lit hope, to touch me with the smile
Of moon and star and joy of that last mile
Before I reach the sea. The ships are late
And mayhap laden with the precious freight
Dawn brings from Life’s eternal summer isle.
And should I find the sweeter fruits of dream—
The oranges of love and mating song—
I’ll laugh so true the morn will gayly seem
Endless and ships full laden with a throng
Of beauty, dreams and loves will come to me
Out of the surge of yonder silver sea.
William Moore was an American poet and journalist.
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And so it is that most people have no idea how beautiful the world is and how much magnificence is revealed in the tiniest things, in some flower, in a stone, in tree bark, or in a birch leaf. The grown-ups, going about their business and worries, and tormenting themselves with all kinds of details, gradually lose the perspective for these riches that children, when they are attentive and good, soon notice and love with their whole heart. And yet the greatest beauty would be achieved if everyone remained in this regard always like attentive and good children, simple and pious in sensitivities, and if people did not lose the capacity for taking pleasure as intensely in a birch leaf or a peacock’s feather or the wing of a hooded crow as in a mighty mountain or a splendid palace. What is small is not small in itself, just as that which is great is not—great. A great and eternal beauty passes through the whole world, and it is distributed fairly over that which is small and that which is large; for in such important and essential matters, no injustice is to be found on earth.
Rainer Maria Rilke (1875—1926) was was an Austrian poet and novelist.
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“Beware the Jabberwock, my son!
The jaws that bite, the claws that catch!
Beware the Jubjub bird, and shun
The frumious Bandersnatch!”
He took his vorpal sword in hand;
Long time the manxome foe he sought—
So rested he by the Tumtum tree
And stood awhile in thought.
And, as in uffish thought he stood,
The Jabberwock, with eyes of flame,
Came whiffling through the tulgey wood,
And burbled as it came!
One, two! One, two! And through and through
The vorpal blade went snicker-snack!
He left it dead, and with its head
He went galumphing back.
“And hast thou slain the Jabberwock?
Come to my arms, my beamish boy!
O frabjous day! Callooh! Callay!”
He chortled in his joy.
’Twas brillig, and the slithy toves
Did gyre and gimble in the wabe:
All mimsy were the borogoves,
And the mome raths outgrabe.
Lewis Carroll (1832 – 1898) was an English author, poet, and mathematician.
Mark McGuinness reads and discusses the poem in his podcast A Mouthful of Air, a podcast of classic and contemporary poetry. Podcast transcription is available.
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Love comes in all shapes and sizes ❤️Happy Valentine’s Day!
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My branch of thoughts is frail tonight
As one lone-wind-whipped weed.
Little I care if a rain drop laughs
Or cries; I cannot heed
Such trifles now as a twinkling star,
Or catch a night-bird’s tune.
My whole life is you, to-night,
And you, a cool distant moon.
With a few soft words to nurture my heart
And brighter beams following love’s cool shower
Who knows but this frail wind-whipped weed
Might bear you a gorgeous flower!
Blanche Taylor Dickinson (1896 – 1972) was an American writer associated with the Harlem Renaissance arts movement.
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