Great blue heron perched on the high, arched back of a rustic driftwood bench on the Fiscalini Ranch Preserve, Cambria, CA USA.

Sometimes nature just hands you the perfect photo opp.

A Spell Against Stagnation: John O’Donohue on Beginnings “Our very life here depends directly on continuous acts of beginning.”

"Our very life here depends directly on continuous acts of beginning."

A spell against stagnation – John O'Donohue on beginnings

While on a shark research expedition off the coast of Tenerife, a Spanish island, marine biologists captured the first images of a live adult black seadevil anglerfish near the ocean’s surface. nyti.ms/3CLmscK

Always rock towards hope.

Wild Clocks – David Farrier Attentive to the loss of age-old ecological relationships as “wild clocks” fall out of synchronization with each other, David Farrier imagines an opportunity to renew the rhythms by which we live and ...

"In every living thing there ticks a clock...": @david-farrier.bsky.social superb & unsettling on how "wild clocks"––spruce saplings, oyster colonies, reindeer herds––are falling out of synchronization as the Earth transforms.
It’s becoming harder to keep time.
emergencemagazine.org/essay/wild-c...

Like many this week, I’ve been reckoning with some strong emotions. How do we think about hope and despair in a moment where the argument for despair does seem to have a lot going for it? Tried to make sense of my own conflicted feelings in this piece for @newrepublic.com

A screenshot of Maggie Smith's "Good Bones" Life is short, though I keep this from my children. Life is short, and I’ve shortened mine in a thousand delicious, ill-advised ways, a thousand deliciously ill-advised ways I’ll keep from my children. The world is at least fifty percent terrible, and that’s a conservative estimate, though I keep this from my children. For every bird there is a stone thrown at a bird. For every loved child, a child broken, bagged, sunk in a lake. Life is short and the world is at least half terrible, and for every kind stranger, there is one who would break you, though I keep this from my children. I am trying to sell them the world. Any decent realtor, walking you through a real shithole, chirps on about good bones: This place could be beautiful, right? You could make this place beautiful.

Poetry Foundation not fucking around with today's poem of the day
www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/89897/...