Evanston: Ecclesiastes and an egg
Evanston: Ecclesiastes and an egg
The trees outside my window are bare, so I must be in Evanston. New Zealand trees are green year round.
The flights back were relatively painless.
I expected to be exposed to the new full body scans at LAX, but the machines are not yet in use at the United terminal. I don’t personally object to full scans. On the contrary, I encourage prurient interest in my body. But I would object to the pat downs, which are reportedly police state invasive.
Terrorists have so changed American society that in some ways they have already won.
The seasons are not equal in most places I have lived.
In Chicago and Boston, winter is longest. At least five months; sometimes seven.
Spring and fall, the most pleasant seasons, are also the briefest; and though by the calendar, it is fall here, winter begins next week, with snow and temperature forecast to drop to 12ºF/-11ºC. The main balcony is filled with our annual load of firewood, which we picked up yesterday.
When the doves were nesting on the Juliet balcony last summer, we wondered why there was only one egg when usually they lay two.
In clearing out the planter boxes, as she does each fall, Carol found the answer, which is seen in the more than twice life size photograph above. The egg is actually about the size of a US 25 cent piece.
We don’t know how the egg fell from the nest and cracked.
I thought of Ecclesiastes:
I returned, and saw under the sun, that the race is not to the swift, nor battle to the strong, nor bread to the wise, nor riches to men of understanding, nor favor to men of skill; but time and chance happen to them all.
Sunday, November 21, 2010