The tweet about Susan Collins in the Bangor Airport, Friday July 28, 2017: 859 replies, 14K retweets, 57K likes.
The Kate Bush birthday post tweet, Sunday July 30, 2017: One reply, one retweet, two likes.
Photoshop of me escaping down Schoodic Head by dear friend davidly (most of his posts are in English, but he lives in Berlin so Deutsch sometimes at top of his blog, like now) on Saturday, the selfie at top yesterday, Valley Cove Creek in the saddle between Acadia Mountain and St Sauveur Mountain, Acadia National Park, Maine.
Earthgirl asks I again give her credit, and I do because due. I would have said No to ABC, so NBC wouldn't have asked and NPR wouldn't have used it and I wouldn't have made
I post the comparison stats solely for my amusement. The odds that there would be a Kate Bush birthday post on July 30th were 100%, as are the odds I'd mention that yesterday was also William Gass' birthday and the odds there will be lots of Grateful Dead songs here tomorrow for Jerry Garcia's birthday. ABC, NBC, NPR, and Crook and Liars will not be covering, nor should they.
Also this: I'm on vacation, so this blog isn't going to do what it does when I'm not on vacation, bark-wise, link-wise, wise-wise. I'll do the Egoslavian Holy Days, of course, and bark if anything barkworthy arises, but at a time when more new eyes are on the blog than ever before and - odds are - ever again, I won't be doing daily aargh-farming this coming week like I do most days except when I'm on vacation. Here's a gag I use all the time, welcome Newcomers: Fine metaphors abound.
Kidding: by Wednesday, only beloveds and friends analog and digital will be here. Meanwhile, yesterday in a bakery getting coffee in Southwest Harbor Maine, we had to make a choice. Beloveds - and one was one of the choices - and friends analog and digital know who we chose:
Photos from woods, songs and poems, will continue through vacation, as is tradition. Newcomers: music play loud, read poems out loud.
I know if I find you I will have to leave the earth
and go on out
over the sea marshes and the brant in bays
and over the hills of tall hickory
and over the crater lakes and canyons
and on up through the spheres of diminishing air
past the blackset noctilucent clouds
where one wants to stop and look
way past all the light diffusions and bombardments
up farther than the loss of sight
into the unseasonal undifferentiated empty stark
And I know if I find you I will have to stay with the earth
inspecting with thin tools and ground eyes
trusting the microvilli sporangia and simplest
and praying for a nerve cell
with all the soul of my chemical reactions
and going right on down where the eye sees only traces
You are everywhere partial and entire
You are on the inside of everything and on the outside
I walk down the path down the hill where the sweetgum
has begun to ooze spring sap at the cut
and I see how the bark cracks and winds like no other bark
chasmal to my ant-soul running up and down
and if I find you I must go out deep into your
far resolutionsand if I find you I must stay here with the separate leaves