point of origin

There were snowdrifts on Sackett and Hicks last evening, at first I believed there'd been an explosion at an insulation company, until I got close and saw that each tiny puff encased a small white seed. The wind coming off the river was blowing them towards the BQE, so I headed West to find the source of such abudant softness. The trace disappeared when I got to the entrance of the Human Compass Garden, and seeing the gate was open I went inside. I wandered around still unable to find the source for too long I think considering that the drifts snowed from two tall trees I had initially taken to be Tulips, which grew not far from the Garden's entrance. Tall, tall trees with heart shaped, toothed leaves about 3-4 inches wide that drew to long points at the tip, sheltering cascading tear-drop shaped pods packed to bursting with compressed downy parachutes woven around seeds that seem far too tiny to engender such large trees.

From the garden's sign I took in the quote from Leonardo Da Vinci, "In this small space, the universe can be completely reproduced and rearranged in its entire vastness!"

Today I found more of the quote, the lines which indicate that Da Vinci was actually reveling in the faculty of vision: "Here, right here, in the eye, here forms, here colors, right here the character of every part and every thing of the universe, are concentrated to a single point. How marvelous that point is!"

Superfun

In several dreams lately I've found myself crying, I think I'm working through fear of loss, a fear that most likely paralyzes me significantly. Why now, I wonder? Somewhere I must have made an alliance with myself that it was time to go deeper into inner landscapes hidden because of their tragically disturbed ecology. Who wants to hang out with their internal Gowanus? Well, I'm hearing it's superfund time, I hope so.

I suppose it's the Buddhist practice that's led me into this sadness, that's what happens when you still the mind, you find out what all that business was attempting to hide. So don't meditate, unless you are hoping to achieve a greater intimacy with your own unpredictable terrain studded with the things that scare you most, the scary things that drive us to control reality with heavy, sloppy, dividing hands.

The fear of loss I connect with a dream I had long ago in which I was near an Egyptian landmark and suddenly shot and killed. I found myself dying in a desert, filled with the grief over all the wonderful things I'd be leaving behind. As I died I rose up and saw the Sphinx. Too strange to wake up the next morning and hear about the Luxor massacre which had occurred while I slept. A total of 59 Swiss Japanese, British, German, French, Bulgarian and Colombian tourists were killed on the day in 1997 as well as 4 Egyptians. I felt I'd been there, been killed, grieved, and moved on. Why, I can' say, but it was good preparation for death. And I have to admit I haven't been able to go near that feeling of grief over loss without feeling paralyzed and motivated to avoid it. So I guess now's the time.

But today, in spite of all this darkness, the sun was shining on the poppies, and as my still grieving heart was draped in the song of the sun, I am reminded again that paradox is as light as air, as if it were the same substance that upholds gliding wings. So I leave you with an apology for dredging up all this crap in your presence, and a view of the poppy, which I think you might find more appealing than my navel with all its sinister lint.

Yeti Sighting in Windsor Terrace

on Mitchell Gold sofa.

Beauty in Decay

It may be starting to look a little like Flanders Field around here, but how can a girl resist wet poppies? These poppies really like to get their gowns dirty, dropping their inky pollen onto their inverted silk skirts, but the steep drop of the rain cleaned them well this morning, too well. The luminous concavity reminds me of the frail iridescence of a slipper shell I'm sad to have misplaced.

Their beauty isn't wholesome, there's a menacing power in their structure, in the odd and obscene mask's eye most apparent after the petals have fallen away that gives especially poignant footnotes on nature's knotted signature. There's a perverse calligraphy in the eye's sooty tears which trace the topography of life and death in high relief. There's a sharp magnetism, entrapment, paralysis, jouissance, to draw from what I've been reading here, where frames sing about loosening limbs.

Perhaps it's useless to resist it. As Terry Tempest Williams writes in her essay Winter Solstice at Moab Slough, "But what kind of impoverishment is this to withhold emotion, to restrain our passionate nature in the face of a generous life just to appease our fears? A man or woman whose minds reins in the heart when the body sings desperately for connection can only expect more isolation and greater ecological disease. Our lack of intimacy with each other is in direct proportion to our lack of intimacy with the land. We have taken our love inside and abandoned the wild."

Legumelicious

Looks like another tree in the pea family is in bloom. Fab-aceae is right! Also sweet smelling like the Black Locusts (Robinia Pseudoacacia) blooming everywhere, but with much broader, softly diamond shaped pointed leaflets. I came across two of the trees thriving on the berm along Prospect Park Southwest, shading the pebbled concourse beneath it where I walk the kids to school.

I suspect the flowers could be called Papilionaceous, in which case the petal that backs the others and soars upward, and curls adorably backward in this species, would be called a banner. The two outer petals that dangle into the open air beneath it are the wings, and the central part, composed of two probably fused petals, the keel. The whole five petaled structure is a corolla. And so she sails.

Just in from Prospect Park: "according to one of our experts, looks like a: yellowwood—Cladrastis lutea" Thanks!!

Spring Clean for the May Queen

Don't be alarmed, now, it's just Zig and Zag in the hedge maze in the Connie Gretz Secret Garden, Snug Harbor, SI.




As we sat in front eating lunch we'd brought in (there's little to eat at the Snug Harbor Cultural Center, sadly, they closed the Tea House) we watched some people get locked in the Secret Garden. Must have been fun for them. Eventually they gained their freedom after the docent ran back with an odd, slender key.

jersey emblem

...from one of the old state fair buildings in Hamilton NJ. I'm wondering what those three things that look like sleds crossed with windmills are. Plows with sails?

Jersey and Back

Grounds for Sculpture, a sculpture garden in Hamilton NJ, must be the most playful park I've been in since I went to Disney Land as a child. Endowed by J. Seward Johnson of Johnson & Johnson, it displays his sculptures which render 19th Century paintings like Le déjeuner sur l'herbe in 3 dimensions, as well as work by those with a more basic appreciation of the poetry inherent in materials. It took me a while to get used to the crowing of the peacocks that wander the grounds and the other surprises the garden planners have baited the park with, like a copse of Dawn Redwood you suddenly find yourself among or the depth of green in the leaves of a Japanese Horse Chestnut tucked behind an artificial knoll. Maybe the best part was the steep scrubby hills behind the horrible visitor's center, a heart breakingly barren brick box, hills that hid Sweet William, Vetch and Larkspur among the thick grasses fleecing their slopes, divided by steep paths that led to work with little or no polish. For the buffed, glazed, shellaced, ground, molded, welded, torqued and deliberately corroded, one must stay near the inviting Naples yellow and verdigris old State Fair Buildings, now converted to galleries, gift shops, cafes and offices, and watch out for the peacocks.

The walk lined with tightly planted Poplars put me in a great mood, but not the kids, who were a little too worn out by the sun and all the garden's surprises. Too bad the man-made brook that ran nearby didn't burble away full of lemonade. Coming back through Staten Island, 678 was too congested so we took a little tour of Richmond County. Highlights included a bunny rabbit that seemed to have the sense to head away from Richmond Ave and into the deep phragmites that sweep across the acres in front of the Fresh Kills landfill, a really old overgrown cemetery inbetween strip malls, and a view of the open blue of the Great Kill from the corner of Tennyson and Thornycroft, a view partially obscured by an "End" sign that stated the obvious.

popeyed

If only they'd bloom all summer.

Emulsions

There's a lot that stays with you at Snug Harbor's Chinese Scholar's Garden. I've posted a few more images to flickr, but perhaps it's better to go yourself if you can. Don't mind the pirates in the gift shop, they're harmless. Bring a long stick to save the bees that plummet from a hive under one of the eaves onto the pond below.

How Snug the Harbor

Snug enough for sailors, I hear! The Staten Island attraction, today called the Snug Harbor Cultural Center, was created "as an asylum or home for aged, decrepit and worn out sailors" in 1833, funded by an endowment from privateer turned philanthropist Robert Richard Randall. The placid dominion was landmarked in the 60's and bought by the city in '76, thus thankfully spared the developers' wrecking ball. The people working the gift shop at the Chinese Scholars' Garden reported that Jackie Onassis was one of the forces behind Snug Harbor's preservation.

At one time more than 1,000 retired sailors lived in the sprawling acreage organized around several impressive Greek Revival buildings that face the Kill Van Kull, built long before the alternate shore became an industrial panopoly of tightly nested gas tanks. 7,000 sailors are interred in the nearby cemetery on Monkey Hill. How astonishing it would be to join them in the mess hall back then to take in a few salty stories and some sea worthy language, and the sound of the creaking weather vane.

The advent of Social Security and decline in maritime trade (and piracy?) may have played a part in the asylum's demise. Good news, though, if you are a sailor or pirate entering retirement, there's a new Snug Harbor in Nelson Bay, North Carolina. More details at rootsweb. More good news, the Cultural Center is a haven of rare rewards which include Botanic Gardens, a really excellent Children's Museum, theatres and more than this traveler can get a handle on.

For Mrs. Rousseau and her Babies

Yesterday I came across this flowering tree working its magic on the evening air - I think it's a Black Locust, and if you wander into the park this weekend, no doubt you'll smell them too. There's two small ones on the path from Vanderbilt St. to the lake, and many others I'm sure.

In On Kindess there's mention that the French philosopher and proponent of the idea of children's innate goodness, Jean-Jaques Rousseau, sent his 5 infants to an orphanage (where they most likely died) because he believed "his wife's family would ruin them." Wikipedia claims that he did this to preserve their mother's "honor." The irony. How did Therese Levasseur and everyone else involved maintain their sanity? I suppose that with a 50% infant mortality rate in Paris in the 18th Century, perhaps people became very good at keeping themselves from getting attached. Maybe this partly explains the era's high rate of wet nursing.

Brokelyn Lives!

Brokelyn...a new blog/website...about how to live it up on a shoestring. Have you come across it? Faye Penn does a good job of making living on a limited budget seem appealing. Don't miss my contribution, a survey of the work of few Brooklyn florists, which took me out of WT for a refreshing circuit around the borough.

Fun with....

There is such a trove of playful ideas in last week's literary street find, E. O. Harbin's 1968 The Fun Encyclopedia, one could become easily overwhelmed. Thankfully he broke the book into chapters encapsulating the scope of different types of amusement. Some are Home Fun, Fun Outdoors, Fun as a Hostess, Fun with Seasonal Parties, Fun with Puppets, etc. If I were to write my own manual of fun today, these would be the chapters:

Fun with Appliance Repair
Fun with Computer Hackers
Fun with Sick Children
Mercury Retrograde Fun
Fun with finding your Lost Resume
Fun with Being Easily Provoked to Despair and Anxiety
Fun with Missing Work
Fun with Doubt

That's it for now! Don't worry, I'm signing off, but not for some Fun with Valium, or whatever people take these days. So what kind of fun are you having today?

tree fun

It seems that Mr. Fun, E.O. Harbin, whose 1968 The Fun Encyclopedia is out of print, also knew lots about tree characteristics he describes in a series of quiz questions in the chaper Fun Outdoors. Below is a sample of the fun. So, what tree?

I am a small tree with large leaves crowded on the stem. I am a close relative of the large magnolia.

My leaves vary from fourteen to twenty-two inches in length by alternate, simple, narroly peared or ovate, pointed at both ends, smooth and fall in the autumn with little change in color.

My flower is creamy white, ill-scented, cup-shaped, with petals six to nine inches long. A whorl of leaves usually surround the flower.

My fruit is rose-colored when ripe, from two to four inches long, cylindrical or cone-shaped, consisting of small capsules, each containing a red seed about one-half inch in length.

My bark is thin, light ray, smooth, and roughened by irregular protruding portions.

My wood is light, soft, light brown in color, and of little practical value. I am planted for ornamental purposes and resemble a rainy-day favorite.

aerial

If this pile of pancake ingredients is the closest I ever get to the Himalayas, it's OK.

when life gives you nettles...

...make nettles tacos! I tried, but lost control of the cumin and things went very wrong. They were good though, before that, tasting like spinach but slightly more substantial and reminding me of corn.

I wore gloves when washing and cutting them, not wanting to get any stinging welts. Then I sauteed them well with garlic and minced onions until I was sure all histamines were neutralized. As an experiment, I rubbed one of the remaining prickly stems on my hand before tossing it in the compost, and nothing happened, though. WTF?

I've only seen nettles for sale at the Cortelyou Farmers market (Cortelyou and Rugby, Sunday mornings) where I bought them along with garlic greens, green onions and bib lettuce, all 2 dollars a bunch. I found it odd that the man I bought the nettles from turned out to be Tibetan, considering how much I've been hearing about the Tibetan Saint/ Buddhist Folkhero Milarepa who was believed to have subsisted entirely off the prickly greens. Perhaps this was Milarepa's repentence for the vengeance he wrought on his enemies. Perhaps he sought the wealth of health benefits which include alleviated allergies, help with prostrate issues, anemia, baldness, arthritis and other things. It's rumored that his diet turned his skin green.

school carnival

Seconds after we'd walked through the PS 154 gate onto the blacktop some kid with an impressive arm hit a target that dunked a shivering man into the vat of cold water beneath him. There but for the grace of God.

My determination to keep Nora off the inflatable obstacle course was due to a neurosis, the product of her harrowing early morning nosebleed. I suddenly realized that everything would be ok, so off she went along with her brother, who helped her over the high, slippery inflatable hurtles and through the narrows gaps. I stood outside considering this air-filled prison guard's puffy hand and short, even fingernails, wondering if the human race will ever evolve out of our nails altogether. Ew.

We had a look at the cakes entered in the contest. Just as I was going to take a picture of the litter box cake which I found very realistic, my camera's battery died. Seems it has better taste than I do. Tragically, we didn't get to stick around to see which cakes were the big winners, or to provide any investigative taste testing.

Friday at Sean Casey

The Hamilton Doghouse, run by Sean Casey Animal Rescue, seemed like a city within a city yesterday afternoon, and the groupings of rescued animals made cities within that one, as we passed by the haven of abandoned birds, lizards and snakes, various rodents, cats and kittens, and a yard full of 6 or 7 African Spurred Tortoises that lumbered casually over the sunlit cement. We didn't enter the kennel filled with barking dogs, we would have been over our heads at that point, but we saw some of them being walked and attended to by the several volunteers drawn to the place by their tender hearts and appreciation of Sean Casey's mission.

We got an excellent used cage for our two new baby rats which they carefully hosed down and scrubbed for us. So now, we've got this amazing roomy cage at a bargain price and they have a little more room in their store, which is full to tipping. Sean Casey went down into his basement to root for it himself, he's like cool hand Luke, a man with a lot of quiet passion and intelligence simmering behind those penetrating eyes of his that I found a little bit intimidating at first. He's built quite a city there, a small hive of those tender hearted ones who can't resist aiding the vulnerable. A little heaven on earth, right off Ft. Hamilton Parkway.

Did someone say cake?

Yes! Cake contest in the hood! I especially like the edible kinds. Thanks PS 154 SPRING CARNIVAL!

SATURDAY MAY 16TH 11a – 4p
The Museum Alliance for Science and Technology will hold its annual Spring Carnival. Games, Bouncy Castle, Obstacle Course, Crafts, Music, Kids Clothing Swap, Food, Dunk Tank, etc. In the PS 154 Schoolyard -- Windsor Place at 11th Avenue, Bklyn

•Music including Pete Sinjin & Friends with Dan Vonnegut, Good Greasy and Baked
•PS 154 Community Drum Circle at 3:00
•Cake Contest judging at 1:00 pm. Entry categories include Most Creative, Most Gross (But Edible), Best School Spirited, Spring-iest

Subway School

On recent voyages into Manhattan from Brooklyn I've noticed some of my fellow pilgrims partaking of the study of the science of kindness, a motivation which seems to be ripening in the minds of many I've crossed paths with, not excluding those I'm studying the workings of Bodhichitta (awakened mind/compassionate heart)with on Monday nights.

The texts in the hands of my fellow subway riders have included The Anatomy of Peace by the Arbinger Institute, their Leadership and Self-Deception, and On Kindness by Adam Phllips and Barbara Taylor.

I haven't read these books but they seem to hold the promise of the deliciousness of wisdom, and I am plunged into delight. As for On Kindness, I'm a little worried that this will wind up being a materialist/behaviorist thesis that views kindness as a quality natural selection favors, and certainly there's arguements for the self-serving benefits of altruism. Even in Buddhism, it's often mentioned the only way to truly benefit ourselves is by maintaining a loving mind, which I suppose becomes a bit of a lash for those loving to project a self-righteous selflessness. Yes, I suppose it matters to also be kind to oneself.

The trick is which of your selves are you kind to? If we are most cherishing with that in us which identifies with race, tradition, tribe, preferences, sensibilities, opinions, beliefs, inherited dogma or beliefs, aggendas, we necesarily raise that self above those from different strains, and in so doing, trump the limited, superficial self over the universal.

Jetsun Milarepa addressed the issue with these simple but profoundly challenging lines:

When I realize everything’s equality
I forget all about my close friends and my relatives
It’s OK to forget the objects of your attachment

And perhaps Jesus' message was something similar when he made this harsh pronouncement, although, since I can't translate Aramaic, I'll hedge my bets:

"If any man come to me, and hate not his father, and mother, and wife, and children, and brethren, and sisters, yea, and his own life also, he cannot be my disciple” (Luke 14:26)

I feel these teachers were pointing out that the only place we're truly safe is on common ground, common ground that can be very elusive, and not at all where you think it is. I guess the idea that blood is thicker than water presumes that thickness is good.

BTW, there's a lot more discussion of the provocative Luke 14:26 here.

Saturday Scour Power

Ahem, a few announcements. BTW, did you know the Brooklyn Public Library has its own 9-piece band? I thought you had to be so quiet in there. I wonder what's on the band's set list for the Saturday book drive festivities? (see below)

It’s My Park! Day at Prospect Park is this Saturday, May 16. 10 a.m.–2 p.m. Hundreds of Volunteers will help care for 585-acre Prospect Park as part of a citywide effort to tidy up and support our urban greenspaces on It’s My Park! Day. Volunteers will meet at 10 a.m. for registration at the Wollman Rink at Prospect Park. To get ready for the work ahead, members of Raizes do Brazil Capoeira Brooklyn (a local martial arts studio) will lead volunteers in warm-up exercises. Around 10:30 a.m. Volunteer groups will then head to ten locations around the park, including the Lake edge, Concert Grove, Park Circle, the Lullwater and the Nethermead. From approx 11 a.m. until around 1:30 /2 p.m., volunteers at these locations will be doing various projects including painting benches, weeding, and cleaning and trash pick-up. The public can call (718) 965-8960 for more information or visit prospectpark.org. For information on It’s My Park! Day events at other NYC Parks, visit partnerships for parks.l


The Great American Book Drive Returns to the Brooklyn Public Library by Popular Demand

Brooklyn Public Library, in partnership with socially conscious online used bookseller Better World Books, will host its popular “Great American Book Drive” on Saturday, May 16th from 10AM to 3PM at Central Library at 10 Grand Army Plaza. The drive, which collected 15,000 books at its October 2008 event, will once again call on community members to clean out their shelves and donate their old books to help raise funds for the Brooklyn Public Library.

The Great American Book Drive will bring back its popular $1 sale, where selected books can be purchased for only a dollar. Neighbors will also be able to easily sign up for a library card. Younger readers will enjoy the face painting booth. What’s more, Lost In The Stacks, Brooklyn Public Library’s lively 9-piece band, will be on hand playing a mix of rock, pop, and jazz standards.

Fathers and Sons

Thankfully the woman blasting her ipod got off at Jay so I didn't have to hear any more blaring trumpets or crashing cymbals. She seemed to be sleeping, or at last very peaceful. I have a hard time understanding some people's medicine. Then a man sat down with his son so I scooted over from the middle seat to make room for them. This was a very affectionate father who discussed the workings of the F and G with his boy as they leaned into each other and we waited on the Culver Viaduct for the G to pull out. They were speaking a classic father/son dailect that involved train signals and switches and things. They remained on the train after I got off at my stop and headed over towards Prospect. My neighbor Pat was in front of his house as he usually is these days, keeping his young son, also called Pat, out of harm's way. Young Pat likes to talk but I can't yet understand him, so when he spoke to me I looked to his father for a translation. None could be provided, and then, seeing his father's embarrassment, I wished I'd let it all go with a vacuous smile.

On Prospect I'd just scavenged this book published in 1968 called The Fun Encyclopedia by E.O. Harbin, who must have been well versed in the dialectics of play. But his son? The dedication (above) makes you wonder. How lucky this Tommy would be if he wound up being as facile in the spectrum of amusement his father outlines for those with poorly developed funny bones, so much more important back in the day before wii-playstation-xbox-ds-nick jr etc. And so much more social. Perhaps Tommy, like his father, had become proficient at breaking or at least attempting to break the ice through any one of the following techniques outlined in the book: the dummy line, choo-choo, impromptu circus, bumpety bump bump, sack shake, hurly burly, lucky handshaker, cobweb mixer, zoo, rummage, secret couples, shaker, dramagrams, confessions, blind handshake, zip, spiral handshake, blind postman, spin the platter...

Sounds like a treasure chest of awkwardness neutralizers to me, if not a tanker of uranium rich rods to cook up a meltdown. I don't believe I've had the pleasure of experiencing any of these tricks myself although for sure I could have used a few from time to time, even while screaming "No, I'd rather remain aloof!" It would be interesting to talk to this Tommy Harbin and find out what it was like growing up with this Doctor of Fun for a father. As for poor Bazarov the nihilist what can I say! I haven't read Turgenev since High School.

Signing off now, the one I'm currently neglecting is asking that we play "Don't Break the Ice," a game in which, as you well know, the ice always breaks.

hummingbird and hornbeam

red bits

This beech (?) growing along the Waterfall Path in Prospect Park might be tinkering with the matador's art. Perhaps if bulls could fly like this red head I came across where Ravine meets Nethermead the tree would have to learn how to make tracks.

I'm glad we don't have any bulls running or flying around the park. For some reason it's very easy to imagine rounding a corner and meeting one face to face.

multiplication

sidekick

Yesterday we walked by a core of coop dwellers overhauling the garden lining their building, children raked and improvised, two men wrenched a stump from the ground, a women weeded on hands and knees behind the cherry tree wrapped in reddish grey metallic bark, petals already past. I envied the bags of soil they had stacked up on the sidewalk.

The other day when we'd past by the same spot on the way to school Nora ws inspired to ask me what kind of people can talk to animals. I felt out of my depth, so I deferred the question to Russell. He said you had to be sidekick.

At the walkathon yesterday Russell went hurtling into a mother walking nearby without an apology. So I apologized, and she said "no problem, I used to getting bumped into all the time." I'm not, I don't like getting bumped into. I can only imagine what it might be like to be so filled with love, compassion and spaciousness that when the blow comes on, as it always will, it's met with a familiar smile and understanding. How is that possible?

Happy Mother's day, Mothers!

an oak near the tennis house

After 11 years of living in Windsor Terrace, I made a first full loop around Prospect Park while joining Kids for a Better Future in their walkathon to benefit the victims of the Union Carbide disaster in Bhopal. Russell and Sophie held up for the whole stretch admirably, but Nora spent half the circuit in her stroller. I suppose we can forgive her since she's only 4. We ended under this oak with deep, smooth lobes so long they look like fingers. Then the nearby ice cream cart suddenly developed a very long line.

As an aside, can someone tell me why traffic around the loop is directed counter clockwise?

friday morning yellow bits

The Palm Warbler (?) wasn't shy, snatched at least 3 insects from within feet of my head, then paused a while on this fence along the path from the Terrace Bridge to the Concert Grove and Lullwater. Perhaps it eyed me as gnat bait. I probably make great gnat bait.

I wonder what happened to the Yellowthroat.

May 9

Here's a smattering of the full buffet.

Craft Sale to benefit PS 154
10-6 rain or shine, Bartel Pritchard /15th St. entrance to Prospect Park

Nature Walk: Things that go bump in the night, 7:00 p.m.

When most of us are getting ready to hit the hay, other creatures are just waking up. Discover who is starting their day as our day is ending. We’ll take a look into the life of nocturnal animals and how they’ve adapted to life in the dark.Meet in front of the Picnic House in Prospect Park, free

Also at the park, Bird Mommies & Migration, 3 – 4 p.m.
Learn about the unique adaptations of female birds. Audubon Center. Free. 421-2021

Kids for a Better Future Walkathon to benefit people suffering from the long-term effects of the Bhopal chemical plant disaster, "the worst industrial disaster in human history." The kids haven't forgotten!

BKLYNDESIGNS, Friday May 8-Sunday May 10, St. Ann’s Warehouse, 38 Water Street, Dumbo. Tickets $12 in advance, $15 day of. Events and exhibitor info at brooklyndesigns.net.

Earth Celebrations Hudson River Pageant
in partnership with Manhattan Youth

An ecological parade and performance art event, to raise awareness for the restoration of the Hudson River as a vital urban estuarine sanctuary, and address the future effects of climate change on the river and our shoreline in New York City.

The community is invited to participate in a Earth Celebrations ecological art workshop series at Manhattan Youth Downtown Community Center, from February 26 -May 6 creating spectacular giant paper mache puppets and spectacular costumes representing the various species and habitats of the river. The culminating pageant on Saturday, May 9, 2009, 2-5pm, (raindate: Sun. May 10) features a magnificent parade of giant puppets, spectacular costumes, music, dance, performances, songs, and poetry, highlighting the river and issues. The performances are presented at the various piers and significant sites along the parade route, from Manhattan Youth to Gansevoort Street, in the downtown portion of the Hudson River Park.

Brooklyn Birdathon/International Migration Day and other bird related trips here.

germ

Whatever these things are, the house sparrows I've seen along the park seem to find them delicious. Looks like jumbo wheat germ to me.

rainment

This morning the sky was blue when I left the house, but by the time I got to work it had become overcast again. Then this afternoon the roll cloud hit PPW and people ran for cover as the downpour began. A woman walking to pick up her child from school had thrown a towel over her shoulders - that's my kinda fashion. It was warm enough so that no outer garment was necessary though some chose to wear raincoats.

Depending on how you look at it, it could be said that we all wear the same outer garment, which is the air and atmosphere, a roomy and diaphanous gown that extends round the earth before plunging into an infinity of darkness studded with spirals of fire. So, how do you like your coat of stars, this afternoon, its hem heavy with water?

multiplication