‘There is no oak left’: are Britain’s trees disappearing?

NOTE: Thank you to The Guardian for the article!

 

‘There is no oak left’: are Britain’s trees disappearing?

The first national ‘tree champion’ is charged with reversing the fortunes of the country’s woodlands and beleaguered urban trees

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An update on my Crane Book of Wisdom

NOTE: I needed time to collect my thoughts for this post. So, please enjoy the read.

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May 5, 2018; Cinco de Mayo:

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It took four years and five months, but I have finally completed my first Crane Book of Wisdom. Book 1 is completed and I am now starting Book Two. Its been an interesting journey. I had started one before, but lost it along the way on my journey through this life of mine.

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I have also, as means of honoring my fathers memory, started wearing a silver cross. This cross is engraved with fathers initials and birthday. He was Protestant, a Lutheran. And yes, I still miss him. Even though he died from complications of Parkinson’s disease.

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But most importantly, the journey that was Book One was fun, thrilling, and arduous. But well worth the ride. I hope Book Two is more of the same.

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Nine Blessings to all!

th

THE STOLEN CHILD

NOTE: First published December 1886 in the Irish Monthly.

 

THE STOLEN CHILD

by

William Butler Yeats

(1865 – 1939)

 

WHERE dips the rocky highland

Of Sleuth Wood in the lake,

There lies a leafy island

Where flapping herons wake

The drowsy water-rats;

There we’ve hid our faery vats,

Full of berries

And of reddest stolen cherries.

Come away, O human child!

To the waters and the wild

With a faery, hand in hand,

For the world’s more full of weeping than you

can understand. 

Where the wave of moonlight glosses

The dim grey sands with light,

Far off by furthest Rosses

We foot it all the night,

Weaving olden dances,

Mingling hands and mingling glances

Till the moon has taken flight;

To and fro we leap

And chase the frothy bubbles,

While the world is full of troubles

And is anxious in its sleep.

Come away, O human child!

To the waters and the wild

With a faery, hand in hand,

For the world’s more full of weeping than you

can understand. 

Where the wandering water gushes

From the hills above Glen-Car,.

In pools among the rushes

That scarce could bathe a star,

We seek for slumbering trout

And whispering in their ears

Give them unquiet dreams;

Leaning softly out

From ferns that drop their tears

Over the young streams.

Come away, O human child!

To to waters and the wild

With a faery, hand in hand,

For to world’s more full of weeping than you

can understand. 

Away with us he’s going,

The solemn-eyed:

He’ll hear no more the lowing

Of the calves on the warm hillside

Or the kettle on the hob

Sing peace into his breast,

Or see the brown mice bob

Round and round the oatmeal-chest.

For he comes, the human child,

To the waters and the wild

With a faery, hand in hand,

For the world’s more full of weeping than he can understand.