Language itself is a barrier.
And this from Dive Global:These factors should limit significantHA!
strengthening in the short-term and
ultimately result in weakening beyond
48 hours. Dalila will begin to encounter
cooler waters after 48 hours.
Although hurricanes can develop any time of the year in Puerto Rico, the season is generally considered to be from July to November, with September the most likely month. Island folklore has it this way:
June, too soon
July, pass by
August, we must
Remember September
October, all over.
We're back from our shake down trip in the Nevada interior. I'm exhausted. Facing the bitter, sad history of the land, the animals, suspended, crumbling into the vastness, emptied me. Oh yes. It was also invigorating and wonderful. There are a few bugs to still work out but, tor the most part, the new gear worked just fine. It was very different having a base camp instead of changing locations every couple of days. We took on too much, drove to many miles trying to cover too much territory. From now on, with a base camp, we can limit ourselves to a radius and get into the details. We did hike about half way up from the floor of the basin to the Alta Toquima snowman, but didn't make it to the top. Not on the agenda this time, thank the gods.
"Without a winking smiley or other blatant display of humor, it is impossible to create a parody of Fundamentalism that SOMEONE won't mistake for the real thing."
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| Lucky Pierre |
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| Monsieur La Chance and Lucky Pierre |
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| Ellen Hopkins and Haley Bennett reading from Crank. |
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| Barbara, Pete the dog, Lucky Pierre and Monsieur La Chance |
oh oh oh
I like fishing next to this mountain alder, 'cause he chose a pretty view over a hale and hearty existence, disregarded the hidden costs of prime real estate, and even now the bottom leaves are yellowed in the cherry of spring, the roots bared by rising waters, doing his best salty mangrove. He's like an old refugee, managed to elbow his way to the front of the breadline, only to be knocked down by the crowd, watch the sacks of grain go by overhead, rise with fists.
This shore is littered with the trunks of trees that peeked too far over the edge, peaked too soon after a few years, piqued the interest of too many birds now nipping at the buds that sprout too far into the lake. The uppermost branches, once home to tanagers and flickers now occupy basement apartments for sand shrimp and mosquito hawks. I like this stupid old tree, the choice he made, give him a playful shove with my shoulder, like when we were kids, and we'd play along the highway and we all knew someone would push another kid out into traffic, the throughway, thoroughfare, arteries, et cetera, but no one would ever get hurt. A car might blare a horn and a boy would get a taste of the kind of mortality this alder's got no interest in. Don't push the trees, I think.
I don't begrudge this tree his real estate, nor do I fear his short time. I fret over confinement, my need to perch atop a hill and see the remnants of friends from faraway, to bear the harsh weather, to crack beneath the growing sun, to battle the erosion of the dirt between my toes, to stretch my arms throughout my space and offer my hands to the shrikes, the wee hawks confined to their sparrow bodies, that they might rend lizards upon my thorns, long after the barbed wire fences have rusted away.
When I find my spot, the seed I will plant will be a hawthorn, crooked and pale, with a vista over all the space I cannot seem to live without. I think I could stack 1,000 of those days on top of me and I wouldn't notice the added weight, how lightly I flow through the atmosphere, and oh. oh. I can remember learning to float on my back in those moments, winning the equilibrium that keeps naught but your lips above the crest of water, so close to breaking its bonds with your skin, flowing into your mouth. The sun was so hot in those days. Your toes would dip just below the thermal layer, feel the cold retained by the milfoil, force you to suck in a bit more air and rise. And rise. And rise.
You would hardly miss a thing, and have all of 700 years not to do so.
- Brandon
"As Americans continue to spend $2 trillion a year on health care, everyone agrees on one point: Things need to change, and it will take more than a movie to figure out how to get there."
- A. Chris Gajilan, CNN
Complete article here.
