Bufflehead Cabin @buffleheadcabin - Tumblr Blog

dreaminginthedeepsouth

Joseph Fasano

100 Days of Chaos

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"Anyone, anyone" teacher from Ferris Bueller's Day Off

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sixth-extinction

The Hawaiian crow, or ‘alalā, has been extinct in the wild since 2002. A new effort to reintroduce birds of this species—considered importan

Multiple attempts to reintroduce captive-born ‘alalā to Hawaii’s Big Island have been unsuccessful, in large part because of the ‘io, or Hawaiian hawk, the ‘alalā’s last surviving natural predator. But now new hope is taking wing: a fresh class of five young ‘alalā has been released into the wild on the slopes of the Haleakalā volcano on the island of Maui, where ‘io are absent.

azspot

“From my perspective, the danger isn’t that a new alien entity will speak through our technology and take over and destroy us. To me the danger is that we’ll use our technology to become mutually unintelligible or to become insane if you like, in a way that we aren’t acting with enough understanding and self-interest to survive, and we die through insanity, essentially.”

— Jaron Lanier

This means you!

In the years following the launch of NASA's Hubble Space Telescope, astronomers have tallied over 1 trillion galaxies in the universe. But o

Clifton Hicks - The Cuckoo (Coo Coo)

My son Clifton singing and playing banjo during a visit to Bufflehead Cabin in better days.

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apoemaday

Crows

by Mary Oliver

It is January, and there are crows like black flowers on the snow. While I watch, they rise and float toward the frozen pond, they have seen some streak of death on the dark ice. They gather around it and consume everything, the strings and the red music of that nameless body. Then they shout, one hungry, blunt voice echoing another. It begins to rain. Later, it becomes February, and even later, spring returns, a chorus of thousands. They bow, and begin their important music. I recognize the oriole. I recognize the thrush, and the mockingbird. I recognize the business of summer, which is to forge ahead, delicately. So I dip my fingers among the green stems, delicately. I lounge at the edge of the leafing pond, delicately. I scarcely remember the crust of the snow. I scarcely remember the icy dawns and the sun like a lamp without a fuse. I don’t remember the fury of loneliness. I never felt the wind’s drift. I never heard of the struggle between anything and nothing. I never saw the flapping, blood-gulping crows.