The offsets in the stream canyons, plus some modest knowledge of that area, suggests that one is looking at the trace of the San Andreas Fault.
methuseussays
I hate to be that person, but that was just awful to read. Was there no editor present before the piece was published?
jennafurflesays
It looks like a close-up of a King Cake to me.
Snarki, child of Lokisays
Needz moar “Surrender, Dorothy!” skywriting.
wcaryksays
Ever since I saw this photo and other similar ones from a Facebook page, I’ve been wondering: how are the areas so neatly sorted? It looks as neatly laid out as some flower enthusiast’s garden, and hardly the jumble of different species you would expect. Very puzzling.
wcaryksays
Somebody’s got to curmudge here. Guess it’s up to me then.
Spring
BY EDNA ST. VINCENT MILLAY
To what purpose, April, do you return again?
Beauty is not enough.
You can no longer quiet me with the redness
Of little leaves opening stickily.
I know what I know.
The sun is hot on my neck as I observe
The spikes of the crocus.
The smell of the earth is good.
It is apparent that there is no death.
But what does that signify?
Not only under ground are the brains of men
Eaten by maggots.
Life in itself
Is nothing,
An empty cup, a flight of uncarpeted stairs.
It is not enough that yearly, down this hill,
April
Comes like an idiot, babbling and strewing flowers.
evodevosays
@ Edna: boy, what a Debbie Downer!! I guess PTSD from WWI was a definite factor here …
The offsets in the stream canyons, plus some modest knowledge of that area, suggests that one is looking at the trace of the San Andreas Fault.
I hate to be that person, but that was just awful to read. Was there no editor present before the piece was published?
It looks like a close-up of a King Cake to me.
Needz moar “Surrender, Dorothy!” skywriting.
Ever since I saw this photo and other similar ones from a Facebook page, I’ve been wondering: how are the areas so neatly sorted? It looks as neatly laid out as some flower enthusiast’s garden, and hardly the jumble of different species you would expect. Very puzzling.
Somebody’s got to curmudge here. Guess it’s up to me then.
Spring
BY EDNA ST. VINCENT MILLAY
To what purpose, April, do you return again?
Beauty is not enough.
You can no longer quiet me with the redness
Of little leaves opening stickily.
I know what I know.
The sun is hot on my neck as I observe
The spikes of the crocus.
The smell of the earth is good.
It is apparent that there is no death.
But what does that signify?
Not only under ground are the brains of men
Eaten by maggots.
Life in itself
Is nothing,
An empty cup, a flight of uncarpeted stairs.
It is not enough that yearly, down this hill,
April
Comes like an idiot, babbling and strewing flowers.
@ Edna: boy, what a Debbie Downer!! I guess PTSD from WWI was a definite factor here …