Bluebirds of happiness are nonpolitical

I'm not going to rant here about my disappointment and disgust at the outcomes of the Minnesota legislature's "special session." I fear that most Minnesotans neither know nor care nor will they remember come 2016 that both parties sold out Minnesota's environment and political integrity. The executive branch could use some solid training in how to win at negotiations, none of this "fix it later" nonsense. 'Nuff said about that for now.

[UPDATE] David Schultz, Hamline professor, wrote everything I didn't regarding Democrats.

[UPDATE II] Today's Liberal Democrat is an Independent

This morning the clouds are covering the sun, the squirrels are attacking the bird feeders, but the male bluebird has discovered the front yard feeder. He was perched on it awhile ago. Next, I hope he starts feeding on, or taking home to the wife and kids, the relatively expensive dried mealworms I put out a few weeks ago. Of course, there's a possibility this is one of the kids, fledged and learning the neighborhood. I'll have to see what I can find about incubation and hatching times. (The dark tone in the photo is because it was taken through a black window screen.)

Photo by J. Harrington

According to MNDNR:

"Bluebirds nest from late March through early August. They build cup-like nests of grass or pine needles in a nest box or some other cavity. The eggs, usually three to five, are pale blue (sometimes white). Typically, two broods are raised during the nesting season."

That would seem to set up mid-June as a time when the first brood is trying their wings? In any event, I'm going to enjoy these bluebirds of happiness today and remember that, when it comes to the Environment, "Nature always bats last..." and doesn't give a damn what legislators pass and governors sign.

Entirely

By Louis MacNeice 

If we could get the hang of it entirely

   It would take too long;

All we know is the splash of words in passing   

   And falling twigs of song,

And when we try to eavesdrop on the great   

   Presences it is rarely

That by a stroke of luck we can appropriate   

   Even a phrase entirely.

If we could find our happiness entirely

   In somebody else’s arms

We should not fear the spears of the spring nor the city’s

   Yammering fire alarms

But, as it is, the spears each year go through

   Our flesh and almost hourly   

Bell or siren banishes the blue   

   Eyes of Love entirely.

And if the world were black or white entirely

   And all the charts were plain

Instead of a mad weir of tigerish waters,

   A prism of delight and pain,

We might be surer where we wished to go   

   Or again we might be merely

Bored but in brute reality there is no

Road that is right entirely.

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