Some Quiet Reflection

It was a quiet day here in Tacoma. I managed to read another hundred pages of Pirsig’s Lila, but I had to run some errands before the weekend. I figured as long as I had to go the veterinarian I would go to Waughop Lake and see if there were any birds there.

It’s the fewest I’ve seen there in all my visits. Nary a song bird in sight, though I heard a few. Surprisingly, even the ducks were scarce. I took a total of six shots, and ended up saving only this one:

Female Wood Duck

Since they’re predicting rain throughout the weekend, it’s doubtful I will get any more photographs this weekend, but perhaps I’ll have more time to read.


Back to Olympic National Park

Yesterday was one of those rare days when everything comes together to create what seemed like a perfect day. We headed out early in the morning for the Olympics with guests from California,

stopping at a Subway to pick up lunch. When we sat down to eat our lunch before hiking to Hurricane Hill, we were greeted by both winged

Scrub Jay

and four-footed friends who wished to share our bounty.


When we finally headed out, we were greeted by an endless variety of wildflowers, from Subalpine Lupine

Subalpine Lupine

to Indian Paintbrush

Indian Paintbrush

which we gladly shared with numerous Great Spangled Fritillary

Great Spangled Fritillary

and Anise Swallowtails

Anise Swallowtail

Since we, unlike our butterfly companions, couldn’t survive on sheer beauty alone, we retired to an excellent dinner at Port Townsend and watched the scuba divers and sailboats ‘til it turned dark.

Theler Wetlands

It’s Spring, Right?

It’s been a crazy summer here in the Pacific Northwest with high temperatures early on and extended cold and rainy periods recently. The plants at Belfair are definitely showing their confusion. For instance, this wild rose show the characteristics of Spring,

Rose Bud


Wild Rose

AND Fall.

Rose Hips

I’m not sure what season this flower is supposed to bloom in because I can’t remember ever seeing it before, probably because it was so small, each flower about the size of a bumblebee:

Purple Wildflower

And to add to the confusion, here is a shot of Wood Duck with chicks, even though the only time I’ve ever seen these is in early spring.

Wood Duck with Ducklings


Be the Best You Can Be

After reading this BBC story late Sunday, I had to devote more time than usual to my breathing and relaxation exercises. In fact, I spent so long relaxing my muscles that I actually fell asleep on the floor, and woke up tense.

I even spent several hours playing around with the new iPhoto trying to put together a slide show on Hummingbirds, but I still couldn’t get it off my mind.

When I woke up this morning I was still haunted by the article.

When I realized I probably had to write about it in order to purge myself of the anger I was feeling, the first thing to come to mind was this Yeats’ poem that I’ve referred to earlier:

The Second Coming

Turning and turning in the widening gyre
The falcon cannot hear the falconer;
Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold;
Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world,
The blood-dimmed tide is loosed, and everywhere
The ceremony of innocence is drowned;
The best lack all conviction, while the worst
Are full of passionate intensity.

Surely some revelation is at hand;
Surely the Second Coming is at hand.
The Second Coming! Hardly are those words out
When a vast image out of Spiritus Mundi
Troubles my sight: somewhere in sands of the desert
A shape with lion body and the head of a man,
A gaze blank and pitiless as the sun,
Is moving its slow thighs, while all about it
Reel shadows of the indignant desert birds.
The darkness drops again; but now I know
That twenty centuries of stony sleep
Were vexed to nightmare by a rocking cradle,
And what rough beast, its hour come round at last,
Slouches towards Bethlehem to be born?

This is Moral Anarchy.

We pretend to believe in freedom and JUSTICE for all, yet can justify locking up Muslims who were fighting for their country for years in cages in Guantanmo without a trial, but, after a jury convicts marines of executing innocent Iraqis, a Marine General, obviously following his Commander and Chief’s example, pardons those convicted.

Surely the “blood-dimmed tide is loosed upon the world, and everywhere/The ceremony of innocence is drowned; /The best lack all conviction, while the worst/ Are full of passionate intensity.”