the only place where we can run
I got a lot of tips on running last week from Mbarak Hussein. But I also got a non-running related tip. It was a movie tip.
We were discussing the decreasing amounts of snow on top of the mountains in New Mexico and how that affects the small amount of water they get. Could global warming play a role?
Mbarak had recently seen Al Gore's film "An Inconvenient Truth" and strongly recommended it.
Last night I saw the movie at the Moxie and I have to agree Gore makes his case pretty well. There's only one place where we can run right now. That's on earth. Let's take care of it.
Check out the website for the movie and think about ways you can help.
We were discussing the decreasing amounts of snow on top of the mountains in New Mexico and how that affects the small amount of water they get. Could global warming play a role?
Mbarak had recently seen Al Gore's film "An Inconvenient Truth" and strongly recommended it.
Last night I saw the movie at the Moxie and I have to agree Gore makes his case pretty well. There's only one place where we can run right now. That's on earth. Let's take care of it.
Check out the website for the movie and think about ways you can help.
posted by bl at 12:36 pm
1 Comments:
Little Summer Poem Touching The Subject Of Faith
MARY OLIVER
--------------------------------------------
Every summer
I listen and look
under the sun's brass and even
into the moonlight, but I can't hear
anything, I can't see anything --
not the pale roots digging down, nor the green
stalks muscling up,
nor the leaves
deepening their damp pleats,
nor the tassels making,
nor the shucks, nor the cobs.
And still,
every day,
the leafy fields
grow taller and thicker --
green gowns lofting up in the night,
showered with silk.
And so, every summer,
I fail as a witness, seeing nothing --
I am deaf too
to the tick of the leaves,
the tapping of downwardness from the banyan feet --
all of it
happening
beyond any seeable proof, or hearable hum.
And, therefore, let the immeasurable come.
Let the unknowable touch the buckle of my spine.
Let the wind turn in the trees,
and the mystery hidden in the dirt
swing through the air.
How could I look at anything in this world
and tremble, and grip my hands over my heart?
What should I fear?
One morning
in the leafy green ocean
the honeycomb of the corn's beautiful body
is sure to be there.
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