Without Lifting A Finger

Western Tanager @ Huntington Beach Central. My best pic of this little guy (so far). At least in my experience (limited), he's a bit elusive. #rlswihart13 #rl_swihart #huntingtonbeachca  #centralpark #birds #tanagers #westerntanager #nature #beauty #adashofred #poetry #readmorepoetry2021

Slowgoing but I'll stick with it. Some interesting constructions. * A myth is true—that is to say, operationally true—insofar as it has predictive force. The more deeply rooted and universal a myth, the more difficult it is to combat. The myths of a tribe are the fictions it coins to maintain its powers. The answer to a myth of force is not necessarily counterforce, for if the myth predicts counterforce, counterforce reinforces the myth. The science of mythography teaches us that a subtler counter is to subvert and revise the myth. The highest propaganda is the propagation of a new mythology.

House Wren @ Bolsa Chica. Think I'm correct on the ID, but this little guy, partly because he's "giving the call his all," is hardly the classic pic.  Update: Apparently it's a House Wren not a Bewick's. What can I say.:) #rlswihart13 #rl_swihart #bolsachica #wrens #bewicks #smallbirds #thecallisall #rumpledshirt #rumpledsoul #nature #beauty #poetry #readmorepoetry2021

 They entered and went along the hall until they came to number 17; the door was ajar, and at the moment one of the students was speaking. When he finished, they heard the Professor reply to him. “No, Miller, I don’t myself think much of science as a phase of human development. It has given us a lot of ingenious toys; they take our attention away from the real problems, of course, and since the problems are insoluble, I suppose we ought to be grateful for distraction. But the fact is, the human mind, the individual mind, has always been made more interesting by dwelling on the old riddles, even if it makes nothing of them. Science hasn’t given us any new amazements, except of the superficial kind we get from witnessing dexterity and sleight-of-hand. It hasn’t given us any richer pleasures, as the Renaissance did, nor any new sins—not one! Indeed, it takes our old ones away. It’s the laboratory, not the Lamb of God, that taketh away the sins of the world. You’ll agree there is not m...

Forster's Tern @ Bolsa Chica. We traded yawps, then he flew away. #rlswihart13 #rl_swihart #bolsachica #terns #forsters #yawps #tradingyawps #nature #pics #collage #shufflethecards #nature #poetry #readmore

Though wilfulness was implied in the line of her figure, in the way she sometimes threw out her chin, Kathleen had never been deaf to reasoning, deaf to her father, but once; and that was when, shortly after Rosamond’s engagement to Tom, she announced that she was going to marry Scott McGregor. Scott was young, was just getting a start as a journalist, and his salary was not large enough for two people to live upon. That fact, the St. Peters thought, would act as a brake upon the impetuous young couple. But soon after they were engaged Scott began to do his daily prose poem for a newspaper syndicate. It was a success from the start, and increased his earnings enough to enable him to marry. The Professor had expected a better match for Kitty. He was no snob, and he liked Scott and trusted him; but he knew that Scott had a usual sort of mind, and Kitty had flashes of something quite different. Her father thought a more interesting man would make her happier. There was no holding her back...

 

Beautiful surroundings, the society of learned men, the charm of noble women, the graces of art, could not make up to him for the loss of those light-hearted mornings of the desert, for that wind that made one a boy again. He had noticed that this peculiar quality in the air of new countries vanished after they were tamed by man and made to bear harvests. Parts of Texas and Kansas that he had first known as open range had since been made into rich farming districts, and the air had quite lost that lightness, that dry aromatic odour. The moisture of plowed land, the heaviness of labour and growth and grain-bearing, utterly destroyed it; one could breathe that only on the bright edges of the world, on the great grass plains or the sage-brush desert. That air would disappear from the whole earth in time, perhaps; but long after his day. He did not know just when it had become so necessary to him, but he had come back to die in exile for the sake of it. Something soft and wild and free, so...

 What's An Osprey Without His Fish? When I saw him circling I first thought he was carrying a shiny plastic bag. I thought I'd taken an MP4 of him eating it (guess I flubbed that one). I also wish I'd recorded the shrieks I can only assume were the "lunch calls" to his mate (their nest is just outside Bolsa Chica, just off PCH). #rlswihart13 #rl_swihart #california #bolsachica #osprey #fishhawk #lunchtime #beauty #nature #poetry #poetryislife #readmorepoetry

Near Seligman and Kingman AZ. Off Old Route 66.  

 The ride back to Santa Fé was something under four hundred miles. The weather alternated between blinding sand-storms and brilliant sunlight. The sky was as full of motion and change as the desert beneath it was monotonous and still,—and there was so much sky, more than at sea, more than anywhere else in the world. The plain was there, under one's feet, but what one saw when one looked about was that brilliant blue world of stinging air and moving cloud. Even the mountains were mere ant-hills under it. Elsewhere the sky is the roof of the world; but here the earth was the floor of the sky. The landscape one longed for when one was far away, the thing all about one, the world one actually lived in, was the sky, the sky!