under spring skies, the evergreen - thick with new needles - echoes the tune sung by hardwood neighbors
Rain sidles up in a commanding cloud -- early -- And so it waits in its cloud, like the awkward party guest who sits in his car, waiting to be fashionably late, but - not having decoded what "on-time" really means - arrives early, nevertheless.
The air was dry and the valley was dry. Tufts of yellow grass clung to the hillside and to the edges of the valley floor -- where they joined with the barren, brown tines of bleak shrubbery. In the riverbed, smooth stones and boulders sprawled to the shoulders, far wide of the feeble stream that flowed at the moment. The water ran gray, having come from the edges of a glacier that scoured its way down a granite channel. And in the "V" far ahead, clouds as thick as the mountains were being lifted and dropped over a snowcapped peak, pretending they'd bring their moisture into this arid landscape.
mountain clouds may become your fog, or may sit in wait
The burbling sounds did clarify my mind. Somehow, the flowing stream was one with me, and sitting down just at the riverbend, I felt more flowing rhythm than I could see. Some part of me was whisked in search of sea, though my body sat at the muddy edge. I know not how a part of me could flee -- just pure potential, being on a ledge. I lost the river like one loses blood. It's there, but [unseen] becomes all and none. Each is swept along swiftly by a scud, but seem so still when you and it are one. The mystic moment comes then flits away, and I am left with nothing fine to say.
the parting clouds divulged a deep blue sky and lapping waves were proof that time passed by but only so gently that I couldn't say if time ran true or told a subtle lie
My rating: 5 of 5 stars
Out: April 8, 2021
A couple of weeks ago, I was reading an article discussing the numerous types of human intelligence. While I firmly believe that the traditional notion of intelligence is sorely inadequate, the social scientist in me is always skeptical when social scientists try to pack up human experience neatly into boxes [because, often times, human experience is anything but neat — thus resulting in categories that aren’t mutually exclusive, are overly partitioned, or are insufficiently partitioned.] So, I don’t know whether I believe that the current scheme, which suggests there are eight types of intelligence, is a good one or not. [Getting to the point here, I promise.] For instance, I’m not sure whether “naturalist intelligence” [one of the eight categories] is really a different kind of intelligence, or just a different field of application. What I do know, is that – either way – it is worth trying to improve one’s understanding of nature, and – also — this book will help you build these faculties.
Tristan Gooley is the Sherlock Holmes of the natural world, taking note of often subtle cues to better understand the overall picture of what’s going on in nature. This particular book examines what we can determine about weather using the variety of clues offered by the natural world – ranging from obvious weather signs like clouds to more obscure indicators such as animal behavior.
The book consists of twenty-two chapters. Many of the chapters are focused on weather phenomena like clouds, winds, fog, precipitation, dew, etc. Some chapters are about natural elements that provide indicators about what might be expected, e.g. the shape of mountains as they influence wind patters, the differential heating effects of different surfaces of the planet. And some chapters discuss specific ecosystems and their recurrent weather, e.g. forests or cities.
The book contains many graphics, mostly drawings and diagrams used to visually depict ideas that are not readily grasped through text descriptions. The book also contains notes, a bibliography, and suggested further readings.
I’d highly recommend this book for anyone who spends time outdoors or who wants to learn more about doing so. Gooley uses stories, analogies, and interesting facts skillfully throughout the book, building a work that will teach one a great deal in a fun and interesting way.
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the cone looms as the city's backdrop, drawing the eye -- some things are prettier in death than in action
Sea breezes toss and twirl pollen,
eddies send some back down to the beach.
Land breezes feed pollen to the dark waters far below.
The flowers are ever-tousled by the wind’s rough hand.
What must they love, in their sightless stance,
that matches my sighted stare at sea and sky?