Nature writings

I just got another idea :P This is starting to hurt my head How about a pararaph or so of your favorite book or author that only deals with nature

So I will go first...this person and his writings are my "bible" His beliefs are mine, I was shaped and formed the same as he. This is from an essay he wrote, who is he????

"It is my belief that a human imagination is shaped by the architecture it encounters at an early age. The visual landscape, of course, or the depth, elevation, and hues of a cityscape play a part here, as does the way sunlight everywhere etches lines to accentuate forms. But the way we imagine is also affected by streams of scent flowing faint or sharp in the larger ocean of air; by what the North American composer John Luther Adams calls the sonic landscape; and, say, by an awareness of how temperature and humidity rise and fall in a place over a year.

My imagination was shaped by the exotic nature of water in a dry southern California valley; by the sound of wind in the crowns of eucalyptus trees; by the tactile sensation of sheened earth, turned in furrows by a gang plow; by banks ofsaffron, mahogany and scarlet cloud piled above a field of alfalfa at dusk; by encountering the musk from orange blossoms at the edge of an orchard; by the aftermath of a Pacific storm crashing a hot, flat beach.

Added to the nudge of these sensations were an awareness of the height and breadth of the sky, and of the geometry and force of the wind. Both perceptions grew directly out of my efforts to raise pigeons and from the awe I felt before them as they maneuvered in the air. They gave me permanently a sense of the vertical component of life.

I became intimate with the elements of that particular universe. They fashioned me. I return to them regularly in essays and stories in order to clarify or explain abstractions or to strike contrasts. I find the myriad relationships in that universe comforting. They form a "coherence" of which I once was a part.

I can understand my life as prefigured in those two kinds of magic, the uncanny lives of creatures different from me (and, later, of cultures different from my own); and the twinned desires--to go, to see. I became a writer who travels and one who focuses, to be concise, mostly on what logical positivists sweep aside.

Over time I have come to think of these three qualities--paying intimate attention; a storied relationship to a place rather than a solely sensory awareness of it; and living in some sort of ethical unity with a place--as a fundamental human defense against loneliness. If you're intimate with a place, a place with whose history you're familiar, and you establish an ethical conversation with it, the implication that follows is this: the place knows you're there. It feels you. You will not be forgotten, cut off, abandoned.

Many of us, I think, long to become the companion of a place, not its authority, not its owner. And this brings me to a final point. I think many wonder, as I do, why over the last few decades people in Western countries have become so anxious about the fate of undeveloped land, and so concerned about losing the intelligence of people who've kept up intimate relations with those places. I don't know where the thinking of others has led them, but I believe curiosity about good relations with a particular stretch of land now is directly related to speculation that it may be more important to human survival to be in love than to be in a position of power. It may be more important now to enter into an ethical and reciprocal relationship with everything around us than to continue to work toward the sort of control of the physical world that, until recently, we aspired to.

When I was a boy, running through orange groves in southern California, watching wind swirl in a grove of blue gum, and swimming ecstatically in the foam of Pacific breakers, I had no such imperative thoughts. I was content to watch a brace of pigeons fly across an azure sky, rotating on an axis that to this day I don't think I could draw. My comfort, my sense of inclusion in the small universe I inhabited, came from an appreciation of, a participation in, all that I saw, smelled, tasted, and heard. That sense of inclusion not only assuaged my sense of loneliness as a child, it confirmed my imagination. And it is that single thing, the power of the human imagination to extrapolate from an odd handful of things--faint movement in a copse of trees, a wingbeat, the damp cold of field stones at night--the human ability to make from all this a pattern, to compose a story out of it, that fixed in me a sense of hope.

We keep each other alive with our stories. We need to share them, as much as we need to share food. We also require for our health the presence of good companions. One of the most extraordinary things about the land is that it knows this--and it compels language from some of us so that as a community we may converse about this or that place, and speak of the need.
Hard-Luck Henry
Thanks for that, p; I like that, and will read more. I googled, so won't give the answer away, I want others to read it, too.
After a little further googling, I came across this link. Hope you like it

Arctic Dreams (external - login to view)
Thanks for that henry I am going to spend some time at his website. Who says science is not spiritual eh? You know henry one of your countrymen is my hero. Beside the books, I have watched his story at imax over twenty times now, I have lost count. Each time it becomes even more unbelievable than the last time I saw it. He is shackleton

Late one evening, I stepped out of my little hut in the rice paddies of eastern Bali and found myself falling through space. Over my head the black sky was rippling with stars, densely clustered in some regions, almost blocking out the darkness between them, and loosely scattered in other areas, pulsing and beckoning to each other. Behind them all streamed the great river of light, with its several tributaries. But the Milky Way churned beneath me as well, for my hut was set in the middle of a large patchwork of rice paddies, separated from each other by narrow, two-foot-high dikes, and these paddies were all filled with water. By day, the surface of these pools reflected perfectly the blue sky, a reflection broken only by the thin, bright-green tips of new rice. But by night, the stars themselves glimmered from the surface of the paddies, and the river of light whirled through the darkness underfoot as well as above; there seemed no ground in front of my feet, only the abyss of starstudded space falling away forever.

I was no longer simply beneath the night sky, but also above it; the immediate impression was of weightlessness. I might perhaps have been able to reorient myself, to regain some sense of ground and gravity, were it not for a fact that confounded my senses entirely: between the galaxies below and the constellations above drifted countless fireflies, their lights flickering like the stars, some drifting up to join the constellations overhead, others, like graceful meteors, slipping down from above to join the constellations underfoot, and all these paths of light upward and downward were mirrored, as well, in the still surface of the paddies. I felt myself at times falling through space, at other moments floating and drifting. I simply could not dispel the profound vertigo and giddiness; the paths of the fireflies, and their reflections in the water's surface, held me in a sustained trance. Even after I crawled back to my hut and shut the door on this whirling world, the little room in which I lay seemed itself to be floating free of the Earth."

Don't we have the best religion ever Henry? :P
Hard-Luck Henry
Shackleton - Shackleton! I came out in goosebumps when I read his name! The Endurance Expedition is an incredible story - if someone made it up, they'd say it was far fetched. Tom Crean is another hero of mine - what a guy! If Scott had taken him on that final fateful journey, they might well have survived - it was only snobbery on Scott's part that made him leave Crean behind, and he payed the ultimate price.

"For scientific leadership, give me Scott, for swift and efficient travel give me Amundsen. But when you are in a hopeless situation, when you are seeing no way out, get down on your knees and pray for Shackleton." Don't you just love that quote? It makes my hair stand on end.
Curse you henry you keep dragging me back into this vaccum...I gotta go to church.....

You otta see shackleton at imax henry, its enough to make you pass out I love that quote, I am gonna keep it. I also like this one that kind of sums it all up

That was all of tangible things; but in memories we were rich. We had pierced the veneer of outside things. We had "suffered, starved and triumphed, grovelled down yet grasped at glory, grown bigger in the bigness of the whole." We had seen God in his splendours, heard the text that Nature renders. We had reached the naked soul of man.
-- Ernest Shackleton

Its still so hard to fathom the improbility of it all. Don't you think its amazing that you can see actual photographs. It is the greatest survivial story of history. You know I do not believe it could be repeated either. Hey henry here are some links. If you ever get a chance to see shackleton at imax, you must attend the event and have the experience :P Now please I gotta go outside

This is link to the imax film, and I checked side bar, and yes you can see this film in the british Ises. (external - login to view)
Hard-Luck Henry
That looks awesome - I think the nearest Imax to me is London, or possibly Manchester, but I'm going to see that.

Now, go get your Java.

Re. nature writing though: This writer usually writes novels, but as he comes from a science background (marine biology - you know him now, don't ya?), he always manages to bring a real feeling for nature into his work. As you've mentioned religion/spirituality, I thought I'd post this by him (I'm sure you've read it before):

"Our own interest lay in relationships of animals to animal. If one observes in this relational sense, it seems apparent that species are only commas in a sentence, that each species is at once the point and the base of a pyramid, that all life is relational to the point where an Einsteinian relativity seems to emerge. And then not only the meaning but the feeling about species grows misty. One merges into another, groups melt into ecological groups until the time when what we know as life meets and enters what we think of as non-life: barnacle and rock, rock and earth, earth and tree, tree and rain and air. And the units nestle into the whole and are inseparable from it. Then one can come back to the microscope and the tide pool and the aquarium. But the little animals are found to be changed, no longer set apart and alone. And it is a strange thing that most of the feeling we call religious, most of the mystical outcrying which is one of the most prized and used and desired reactions of our species, is really the understanding and attempt to say that man is related to the whole thing, related inextricably to all reality, known as unknowable. This is a simple thing to say, but the profound feeling of it made a Jesus, a St. Augustine, a St. Francis, a Roger Bacon, a Charles Darwin, and an Einstein. Each of them in his own tempo and with his own voice discovered and reaffirmed with astonishment the knowledge that all things are one thing and that one thing is all things -- plankton, a shimmering phosphorescence on the sea and the spinning planets and an expanding universe, all bound together by the elastic string of time. It is advisable to look from the tidepool to the stars and then back to the tide pool again."
Well ehm..yes I do know who that is henry :P its steinbeck from the sea of cortez

Who delivered this prayer from Harney Peak in the Black Hills, in 1931.

"Hey-a-a-hey! Hey-a-a-hey! Hey-a-a-hey! Grandfather, Great Spirit, once more behold me on earth and lean to hear my feeble voice. You lived first, and you are older than all need, older than all prayer. All things belong to you--the two-leggeds, the four-leggeds, the wings of the air and all green things that live. You have set the powers of the four quarters to cross each other. The good road and the road of difficulties you have made to cross; and where they cross, the place is holy. Day in and day out, forever, you are the life of things...
You have said to me, when I was still young and could hope, that in difficulty I should send a voice four times, once for each quarter of the earth...
Today I send a voice for a people in despair. From the west, you have given me the cup of living water and the sacred bow, the power to make live and to destroy. You have given me a sacred wind and the herb from where the white giant lives--the cleansing power and the healing. The daybreak str and the pipe, you have given from the east; and from the south, the nations' sacred hoop and the tree that was to bloom. To the center of the world you have taken me and showed the goodness and beauty and the strangeness of the greening earth, the only mother--and there the spirit shapes of things, as they should be, you have shown to me and I have seen. At the center of this sacred hoop you have said that I should make the tree to bloom. With tears running, O Great Spirit, Great Spirit, my Grandfather--with running tears I must say that the tree has never bloomed. A pitiful old man, you see me here, and I have fallen away and have done nothing. Here at the center of the world, where you took me when I was young and taught; here, old, I stand, and the tree is withered, Grandfather, my Grandfather! Again, and maybe the last time on this earth, I recall the great vision you sent me. It may be that some little root of the sacred tree still lives. Nourish it then, that it may leaf and bloom and fill with singing birds.
Hear me, not for myself, but for my people; I am old. Hear me that they may once more go back into the sacred hoop and find the good red road, the shielding tree! In sorrow I am sending a feeble voice, O Six Powers of the World. Hear me in my sorrow, for I may never call again. O make my people live"
Hard-Luck Henry
I didn't google, I phoned my Dad! He's much more au fait with Native American stuff. (He taught me as a child that we had a lot to learn from them - even made me read Bury My Heart At Wounded Knee, when I was twelve. Man, did I hate John Wayne! (Still do actually, but that's another story ))
Any way, he says it's Black Elk?

I'm going to struggle to catch you out on what's clearly your specialist subject, so I'm not even going to try. Who's this?

"The sniff of green leaves and dry leaves, and of the
shore, and dark-color'd sea-rocks, and of hay in
the barn ;
The sound of the belch'd words of my voice, words
loos'd to the eddies of the wind ;
A few light kisses, a few embraces, a reaching around
of arms ;
The play of shine and shade on the trees as the supple
boughs wag ;
The delight alone, or in the rush of the streets, or
along the fields and hill-sides ;
The feeling of health, the full-noon trill, the song of me
rising from bed and meeting the sun.
Have you reckon'd a thousand acres much? have you
reckon'd the earth much?
Have you practis'd so long to learn to read?
Have you felt so proud to get at the meaning of

Stop this day and night with me, and you shall pos-
sess the origin of all poems ;
You shall possess the good of the earth and sun—
(there are millions of suns left
You shall no longer take things at second or third
hand, nor look through the eyes of the dead,
nor feed on the spectres in books ;
You shall not look through my eyes either, nor take
things from me,
You shall listen to all sides, and filter them from your-
One thing for sure henry..I do know walt witman you know there always been a rumor that he was gay.

Henry DO not make me out to be more than I are making me nervous I just love nature thats all, I know where I belong
You called your dad . Some of the last speeches made by the indians, are very hard to read, they are very painful. A disgrace what was done to them by the hairy ones :P

You will never get this one :P

The waves rock the pier, and I fear for how rickety it is, gazing at the far end where a piece of it is separated by a chasm of hurricane damage. The lights of the tall hotels remind me of how artificial this place is, but the sea and the fish remind me otherwise. The pier is covered with blood, bits of bait, spit, seagull poop, empty beer cans. I am surrounded by men, including my father, the only one I feel I can trust. I am outnumbered by men, and some of them are drunk. I fear them somewhat of the way I fear catching a shark, but the dangers from men do not excite me. I catch one small fish after another, croaker, gray trout, fifteen in all taken up out of the ocean, and thrown back down wounded, perhaps dying, because I do not eat them. I do this for sport, I take from the mysteries of the sea for the surprises it offers me, but this plundering has become monotonous, and it is broken only by the unwanted catch, a sting ray (this native species does not actually sting but I am afraid of its thrashing presence on the deck anyway, and a strange man near me unhooks it as a favor). I am tired of fear. I am tired of being a coward. I am tired of being seen as needing help. I am in a man’s world especially here and I feel that I have dared that I have sinned that I am in a universe of rednecks and that sometimes dreaming of fish, of seeing the rod tip move or the tug of war by invisible line with the unknown depths or the sinuous silver form undulating as it is raised on a swaying cord from the water in the imagination is so much more satisfying than the bloody, smelly, unheroic business at hand, where the battle is almost never fair and you never pull Moby Dick or Jaws out of the water but instead merely steal the dinner of another, slighty bigger fish, who does not have the money for pole rental.
Hard-Luck Henry
You're right I won't

Why am I pulling creatures from the sea with a strand of false spiderweb and a phallus?
You dirty rat you turn.
Hard-Luck Henry
Ha. Is it "Angels With Dirty Faces?"

Oops, wrong thread. Another you won't have to think hard about:
"If there be grief, then let it be but rain,
And this but silver grief for grieving's sake,
If these green woods be dreaming here to wake
Within my heart, if I should rouse again.

But I shall sleep, for where is any death
While in these blue hills slumbrous overhead
I'm rooted like a tree? Though I be dead,
This earth that holds me fast will find me breath."
hehehhe A poem by faulkner :P

"Its a simple equationlace+people = politics. In the american west, the simplicity becomes complicated as abstractions of philosophy and rhetoric turn into ground scrimmages---whether its over cows grazing on public land, water rights, nuclear waste dumps in the desert, the creation of the grand staircase escalante national monument, or the designation of wilderness. This territory is not neutral. The red rock desert and canyon of southern utah provokes powerful divisive opinions"
Hard-Luck Henry
Terry Tempest Williams (I saw her name earlier, on the same page as I found Whitman )

I bet you know this, too (The phonetics are a bit superfluous, but I like the punchline )

I asked him how he guided himself in the woods. "O," said he, "I can tell good many ways." When I pressed him further, he answered, "Sometimes I lookum side-hill," and he glanced toward a high hill or mountain on the eastern shore, "great difference between the north and south, see where the sun has shone most. So trees,—the large limbs bend toward south. Sometimes I lookum locks" (rocks). I asked what he saw on the rocks, but he did not describe anything in particular, answering vaguely, in a mysterious or drawling tone, "Bare locks on lake shore,—great difference between N. S. E. W. side,—can tell what the sun has shone on." "Suppose," said I, "that I should take you in a dark night, right up here into the middle of the woods a hundred miles, set you down, and turn you round quickly twenty times, could you steer straight to Oldtown?" "O yer," said he, "have done pretty much same thing. I will tell you. Some years ago I met an old white hunter at Millinocket; very good hunter. He said he could go anywhere in the woods. He wanted to hunt with me that day, so we start. We chase a moose all the forenoon, round and round, till middle of afternoon, when we kill him. Then I said to him, now you go straight to camp. Don't go round and round where we 've been, but go straight. He said, I can't do that, I don't know where I am. Where you think camp? I asked. He pointed so. Then I laugh at him. I take the lead and go right off the other way, cross our tracks many times, straight camp." "How do you do that?" asked I. "O, I can't tell you," he replied. "Great difference between me and white man."
uh huh...thoreau

"You know she won a pulitizer prize for that book.

And so I would like to conculde by confronting directly the issue of hope. My hope is most seriously challenged by the fact of decline, of loss. The things that I have tried to defend are less numerous and worse off now that when I started, but in this I am only like all other conservationists. All of us have been fighting a battle that on average we are losing, and I doubt that there is any use in reviewing the statistical proofs. The point—the only interesting point—is that we have not quit. Ours is not a fight that you can stay in very long if you look on victory as a sign of triumph or on loss as a sign of defeat. We have not quit because we are not hopeless."
Hard-Luck Henry
Wendell Berry (Yum, delicious :P )

"The reason you study history is that it is easy to get a fix on the social embeddedness of ideas that are no longer current. The only thing you can know with respect to your own view is that you can engage in a lot of vigilance and scrutiny so that you can try to identify your own biases. You hope that a consciousness of social embeddedness makes you more sensitive. So, yes, of course the interpretations of the Burgess Shale are in part conditioned by what's happening in society. But there is also a basic factual issue. I think that the description of the anatomy of these organisms can be done with objectivity. It is how we interpret these animals, and what we say they mean for the history of life that is obviously subject to biased ways of thinking. But I do think there is a certain factuality about the anatomy of Burgess animals that has truly been discovered."

The Burgess Shale is in BC, is it not? Have you been? The Emerald Lake looks incredible.
Reminds me; There's a lake on Snowdon (a Welsh mountain) called Glaslyn, or The Blue Lake - it has a bright blue-green hue, due to the copper salys that have leeched into it, from the ore in the mountain. Of course, in the summer unsuspecting tourists are enticed to swim in the lake by this lovely blueness, not realising that that it's really quite poisonous - not enough to kill you, but it will ruin your picnic! ) I'll post a pic in the album , if I have one (edited: 'tis done, but not a great pic, I'm afraid).

edited again! Hey p, I've booked my tickets for Shackleton - I'm going to see it at this cinema under a mountain (external - login to view), and then do some hiking. Not until the end of April, though . In the meantime, I'm going to watch a channel 4 production I've got on dvd (with Kenneth Branaugh - you seen it?) for the nth time.
Wendell Berry (Yum, delicious
I fell off my chair when I read true henry :P

No I have not been to the burgess shale, but I have been to yoho national park, I worked at a ski hill for a few years in that area. The kootenays are "yum, delicious :P
I am jealous of where you are going to see shackleton What a place henry I cannot wait to hear what you think of the film. Hopefully you can watch it over and over again a few times :P
Check this site out henry, you can look at the parks in 3d. (external - login to view)
Hard-Luck Henry
Thanks p., You have a wonderful natural heritage, be sure to look after it (I know you will ). Especially like that link, as it has information on historic and archeological sites, too. History is a big interest of mine - I studied social sciences, but seemed to spend most of my time in the history section of the library :P ).
I want to go to Kitwanga Fort. Now!

Here is a link to possibly my favourite place in England (external - login to view). It's in The Lake District National Park - If you navigate around the site you will find more photos of the lanscape, I just started at Castlerigg Stone as I love it so much, especially in Autumn and Winter, when the weather is bleak and there are no other people for miles. I get a real sense of connection with the people who inhabited this landscape all those thousands of years ago. (Well, I think I do; they'd probably say "Connect with yer? We're gonna bloody eat yer, mate!" )
What a place henry, and the stones? they do know you right :P

Well my favorite place is a small island off the coast of british columbia. Its really only a 15 minute boat ride. I worked many summers on this island. Tis a beautiful place, but its the feeling of the place and the people that live there. Here is a link. (external - login to view)

Hey henry, I saw a program on the discovery channel about franklin's expedition. Apparently at the time of his trek, canned food was just in its infantancy, and they had lead poisioning. Amazing right You might like this website. (external - login to view)
Henry I think you might enjoy this movie alot, I also think you can get it in britian. Henry it is brilliant. The entire cast are Inuit actors from Igloolik. (external - login to view)
Hard-Luck Henry
Quote: Originally Posted by peapod

Henry I think you might enjoy this movie alot, I also think you can get it in britian. Henry it is brilliant. The entire cast are Inuit actors from Igloolik. (external - login to view)

Thankspeapod! I think you're right, so I've just ordered the dvd. (Whilst I was there, my compulsions got the better of me, so I ordered this (external - login to view) as well. And as I hadn't quite made the free postage yet, I thought it only sensible to order this (external - login to view) too.
hehehehhe I already have those tapes :P check this out henry, you can look at frank hurley photographs. amazing!! (external - login to view)

ehm here is something else you might find interesting :P (external - login to view)

There is also a new book around called
shackleton's boat - the story of the james caird by harding mcgregor dunnett......soon we will be out of greenbacks henry
Hard-Luck Henry
Quote: Originally Posted by peapod

hehehehhe I already have those tapes :P check this out henry, you can look at frank hurley photographs. amazing!! (external - login to view)

ehm here is something else you might find interesting :P (external - login to view)

There is also a new book around called
shackleton's boat - the story of the james caird by harding mcgregor dunnett......soon we will be out of greenbacks henry

I've got a huge book with all of Hurley's pictures in it . Incidentally, did you know that some of them were altered later? (it was normal at the time). For instance, the famous picture of the crew waving at the rescue ship? That was actually taken as Shackleton et al were leaving elephant island - the ship on the horizon was added later.

Keeps your links coming pea As for runnig out of money - you can help there, by making that first million a little quicker ( guess what? I spent half an hour typing out a (i thought) smart, funny, wise, insightful response to that post, and then the site crashed on me! Don't you just hate it when that happens? )
btw, when you do become a millionaire, you'll need a butler - can I just say in advance that I make a smoked haddock souffle to die for? And my English accent is bound to impress your new neighbours.
smoked haddock souffle to die for?

Well henry I would have to dead to eat that :P It sound diabolical
What is the name of the book that has hurley's photographs, I can probally order it through the library.
Hard-Luck Henry
Quote: Originally Posted by peapod

smoked haddock souffle to die for?

Well henry I would have to dead to eat that :P It sound diabolical
What is the name of the book that has hurley's photographs, I can probally order it through the library.

South with Endurance: Shackleton's Antarctic Expedition, 1914 - 17
(ISBN 074322292X )

Ps I'm glad you said that, I hate making souffle, especially fishy, smoky souffle. How about a nice Welsh rarebit for breakfast, then?
Welsh rarebit, yes that sound a little better, beer and cheese I think that is. I will order that book henry, thanks. :P

"Aliens live among us. They have big black eyes, speak in a strange high-pitched tongue, and glide through the air like little UFOs.
There is evidence that they consume massive quantities of nuts. Lots of them are out there. If you look up, you might see one, but generally they stay in a part of the world that many of us shun. And they come out only at night."
Hard-Luck Henry
Winkler, huh? Ever seen a flying squirrel, P?

You'll never get this (we have nature writers in Britain too you know, although this one has been to Canada )

"At Lac Rene, large friendly trout suck at fingers proffered by girls perched on lakeside rocks. I like this place. I like it even more the following day as I drive down the majestic river valley of Cascapedia, empty for 100 miles apart from a few fishermen. When I stop briefly, three of them on a shingle bank beckon me over and sit me by the fire on which they’re grilling trout fresh from the river and brewing coffee. Along the densely-settled coastline of the Baie des Chaleurs, at every little creek a jetty’s been built, a harbour, with small fishing boats lined against the quay. Every other house is a poissonnerie, a craberie or a fumerie de saumon. The road drops suddenly down to the peninsula’s end at Perce.

Towns built around geological complexity - Salzburg for example, or Bonifacio at the southern end of Corsica - are thrilling, and this tiny resort at the uttermost end of gaspé is in their league. A craggy bluff of coarse red conglomerate dominates it, and is counterpointed by the 300ft-high fin of pink limestone, stippled with orangey-yellow lichens, sea-sculpted into arch and stack, that juts into the steeply-shelving bay. The two enfold a once-remote fishing village, the lapboarded, red-shingled and dormered cottages of which have been converted into resto-bars and subsumed into a welter of motels and pizza cabins.

The fish-rich waters that aided the survival of those who came from famine-haunted margins of Europe a century-and-a-half ago to settle here have brought other colonists. Out on Ile Bonaventure is the World’s second-largest and most accessible gannet colony.

I go out there, to the cliff-edge where these beautifully-evolved fishing machines nest. The path is lovely, verged with white-berried dogwood and the orange flowers of spotted touch-me-not, emerges from a lichenous forest of spruce and pine to the stink and noise of 100,000 nesting, jostling birds. “Arra, arra, arra.” they call, gutturally, continually, clashing beaks, fencing, stabbing, submitting, copulating. Clouds of them swirl above the sea, diving in groups, rapid-descending glints of white crosses, wings folded just before the entry, the percussive report, the plume of spray, the resurfacing with mackerel, herring, capelin in their beaks."
No I don't know that one henry...fork over the name...I will add it to my list. You won't get this one :P

"The glaciers are rivers, the sky is struck solid, the water is ink, the mountains are lights that go on and off. Sometimes I lie in my sleeping bag and recite a line from a Robert Lowell poem over and over: "Any clear thing that blinds us with surprise.
I sleep by a cold window which I've opened a crack. Frigid air streams up the rock hill and smells of minerals. In a dream I hear the crackling sound that krill make under water. Earlier in the day the chunk of glacier ice I dropped into a glass of water made the same sound."

I will even through in a quote on the page :P
"Do you see that coming?" the old woman Arnaluaq asked.
"That-out there over the sea. It is the Dark coming up, the great Dark!"
knud rasmussen
Hard-Luck Henry
It was Jim (sometimes James) Perrin. He's very good.

Was yours the woman who was struck by lightening? I'll name her by the morning , in the meantime who says the decline of our civilisation began with the Reformation and the rise of ‘a masculine strain of Christianity that denied the body and demoralized nature and its sovereign goddess’? (I think you'll know this persons poetry).
grgrgrgrgr..yes she was struck by lightening, thats probally why she is such a great writer :P

Similar Threads

Nature and You
by china | Jul 26th, 2008
Vatican seeks royalties on pope’s writings
by I think not | Feb 19th, 2006
no new posts