Orbs or Blobs?

Here's an oddity I wanted to share with you. When my son's friend returned home to get his forgotten ID for a night out on his 21st birthday, Bob snapped this photo of him, using my camera. I wondered what the spots were at first, then realized the photo was full of orbs.

Orbs are phenomenom that appear in photographs and many people have speculated on their origin and meaning. Are they Nature Spirits caught in the act, dust particles or ghosts? I am not sure.

I have actually tried to capture these abnormalities myself by flashing my camera in the dark or at unexpected times. I have met with no sucess and I had acturally forgotten about their existence until this photo popped up.

What do you think it is? Notice the different sizes and colors and the fact that they are spread throughout the garden. What do YOU think it could be? I'm partial to the Nature Spirit theory.

Oil and Water

We know that oil and water don't mix. It's a simple fact that we all agree on and never question. Yet BP and the oil industry seem to forget this simple little fact. We are told -no worries! They will spray chemicals to dissolve the oil and spread it around. The Atlantic Ocean is so big, you see, that if the spill is spread out and broken up, no one will notice and there will be no problems. This is the actual attitude of BP - I read this morning that a top executive said that the ocean is so big that this spill will not be a big deal! The arrogance of this amazes me.

Today is Friday and BP has said that the cleanup must wait til next week. Why? Do they need the weekend off? Where is the the media coverage?

PB continues to spread toxic chemical dispersents to break up the oil but, that's OK, because they're "trying to find an less toxic alternative". Great! As long as they say they are looking - we might as well as let them keep doing it.

Remember that passage in Revelations in the Bible when a third of the waters turned red? I thought of it today as I saw the congealed blood red oil in the marshes. Maybe I'll go find my Good Book and reread those chapters again...

Where are the Black Flies?

I suppose I should be glad. They are the bane of my Spring rapture and the excuse for untended garden chores. They hover and annoy, bite quickly and leave welts and swollen eyes. I dread them each year, though we've reached a rather fair standoff. I wear a netted shirt with hood, and don't complain about the few bites I do recieve. It's sort of my contribution to the Black Fly blood bank.

Yet this year the little buggers are few and far between, and I'm not sure if I'm glad or sad. The warmth and flowers arrived early this year and it feels like global warming to me, though I have no idea why this should be such a warm year. Perhaps a butterfly sneezed in China.

The oil continues to spill unabated into the Gulf of Mexico and I've just learned that it has reached the Atlantic loop. This is the water current that will bring the oil around the coast of Florida and up the eastern seaboard. I feel like this Spring is a gift of the beauty that we may never see again.

A pair of chickadees has built a nest in the box just beyond the back door and the babies call with vigor for their daily food. I've planted the onions (Copra) and made the Dandelion wine, which is ready for bottling. The Lilacs are just opening and the Daffodils have all gone by.

I'm practicing patience and looking for all the little joys. The oil spill occupies my thoughts and fills my prayers with drawn out pleas for sanity and quick resolutions. I know these are futile requests, yet I can think of no other way to deal with these thoughts of hopelessness and despair.

The above pictures of the eggs are bittersweet as well. The cockatil eggs have all turned out to be sterile and I have no idea why. The frog eggs look healthy an viable, yet I've been llosing frogs to a new fungal disease thaat has spread around the world in the last few years. The tadpoles survive but the adult frogs succomb to the new disease. It's rather disheartening.

I have decided that I really do miss the Black Flies.