Changes

Yesterday . . .

Today . . .

 

Go Army!

I have a grandson in the U.S. Army. 

This is not him.

Arizona fauna

I spotted an Arizona Roadrunner yesterday.  This one stopped alongside the road long enough for me to take some pictures.

Here's a closer look.  

Kind of makes one wonder whether he's a roadrunner or a rocksitter.

But he's a roadrunner.  They are prevalent in this area.

A silent movie (except for the wind)

I thought you might like to see a bit of my part of Arizona, particularly the changing sky.

Not the Arizona you've read about

Today is a dark and dreary day in the high desert country of Arizona.

 And it's wet.

Definitely not the land of eternal sunshine you've been led to believe in, is it?

Oh well, it will only be a day or two.  Then the sun will come out again.

Togetherness, at last!

Now, I'm not going to make any excuses for having three (count 'em, 3) cats living with us. But I am going to brag some when they all get together without a fight.  You see when Blackwell joined the other two, he brought consternation and a lot of spitting and growling to Jazz.  And, yes, cats can growl.  But this morning, lo and behold, all three of them were stretched out on the same bed.  I was so amazed I had to take photos.

At the foot of the bed is Muggles, with his head hanging over the edge.

 In the middle (and this is the most amazing part of this story) is Jazz.

And, at the far end . . actually the head end . . is Blackwell.  While watchful, he also seems relaxed.

It didn't last long but while it did . . it was truly amazing.

Mag 36

The New Colossus

Not like the brazen giant of Greek fame,

With conquering limbs astride from land to land;

Here at our sea-washed, sunset gates shall stand

A mighty woman with a torch, whose flame

Is the imprisoned lightning, and her name

Mother of Exiles. From her beacon-hand

Glows world-wide welcome; her mild eyes command

The air-bridged harbor that twin cities frame.

"Keep ancient lands, your storied pomp!" cries she

With silent lips. "Give me your tired, your poor,

Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free,

The wretched refuse of your teeming shore.

Send these, the homeless, tempest-tost to me,

I lift my lamp beside the golden door!"

Unfortunately, there is no originality in my brainpan this week.  The poem was written by Emma Lazarus and is engraved on the base of the Statue of Liberty in New York harbor.
 
And, yes, I know it's not necessarily a golden door in the photo but a Dutch door.  So be it.
 
Please look at Willow's Magpie Tales page for some writers with more imagination than this unworthy scribe.