pic is from here:
A tourist saw me taking pics of Brown Creeper on a Cedar, alongside the Bike Path, and asked if it was a Woodpecker. I explained best I could, and we talked a bit, and they told me story of how over at Happy Isles a Humming Bird, stunned, fell out of the air at their feet. Not sure what to do, they took it to their room, and warmed it up under the lamp...it started to recover, and they took it outside...where it happily flew off!
Now, I've thought to myself...that's christian.
A small act...but that's what being christian is to me...the accumulation of small acts, just little day to day things....courtesy, politeness, kindness.
As an adjective, anyone can use it...anyone can do it...just be christian...
(You know, this line has something...reworked...
An adjective anyone can use, anyone can do...just be christian.
Problem with the grammer though, huh??)
Beyond Thunder Dome was on, for goodness sake, and I got to hear the Tell part again...where the kids retell the Grim Story through their own kinda mythological lens...goosebumps to hear it...it's quoted in earlier post.
Something else has come on, another Al Pacino...find the remote here in a minute...was busy ordering replacement art things...someone walked off with French Easel and blank canvases stored in the Cabin's alcove.
I remember here a couple other animal rescues. Once at the Tuolumne Campfire Talk a tourist told the tale of discovering a squirrel trapped in the morning in the commode...it'd been their all night, nearly frozen, and exhausted from trying to scramble up the porcelain sides...once helped out it too sat in the sun, warming up,and scrambled away.
Lemegoget my weedeermousey poem...brb...I gotta housekeep!..that poem folder has too much stuff!...
For when he takes his prey he plays with it to give it a chance.
For one mouse in seven escapes by his dallying.
That thing you’re sitting trapped on,
Which makes the clothes slosh around and round,
Which isn’t going to happen,
With you, Deer Mousy, your whiskers preen’n
Perched atop there unhastened
By my arms full of clothes.
Here, I’ll use my T shirt for gloves
Round and round…
There, I have you…No!
Up the shirt, my arm, you
Run on down and
March 22, 2007
I better let Burns have the last word here...
TO A MOUSE
On turning her up in her nest, with the plough,
Wee, sleekit, cow'rin', tim'rous beastie,
O what a panic's in thy breastie !
Thou need na start awa sae hasty,
Wi' bickering brattle !
I wad be laith to rin an' chase thee
Wi' murd'ring pattle !
I'm truly sorry man's dominion
Has broken Nature's social union,
An' justifies that ill opinion
Which makes thee startle
At me, thy poor earth-born companion,
An' fellow-mortal !
I doubt na, whiles, but thou may thieve;
What then? poor beastie, thou maun live !
A daimen-icker in a thrave
'S a sma' request:
I'll get a blessin' wi' the lave,
And never miss't !
Thy wee bit housie, too, in ruin !
Its silly wa's the win's are strewin;
And naething, now, to big a new ane,
O' foggage green !
An' bleak December's winds ensuin'
Baith snell an keen !
Thou saw the fields laid bare an waste
An' weary winter comin' fast,
An' cozie here, beneath the blast,
Thou thought to dwell
Till, crash! the cruel coulter past
Out thro' thy cell.
That wee bit heap o'leaves an' stibble
Has cost thee mony a weary nibble !
Now thou's turn'd out, for a' thy trouble,
But house or hald,
To thole the winter's sleety dribble
An' cranreuch cauld !
But, Mousie, thou art no thy lane
In proving foresight may be vain:
The best laid schemes o' mice an' men
Gang aft a-gley,
An lea'e us nought but grief an' pain,
For promised joy.
Still thou are blest, compared wi' me !
The present only toucheth thee;
But, Och ! I backward cast my e'e
On prospects drear !
An' forward, tho' I canna see,
I guess an' fear !
That last stanza is gold...
Tree in the Door
Nov. 7, 2007