Still fishin’

Wolf moon over Wolf Lake. With Mars above:

Technically the full moon was 23 hours ago, but I was in class, so here is Wolf Moon, the first full moon of the new year, rising over refineries on the Indiana side of Wolf Lake. I think the way the cloud rises then flattens out makes it look like a dinosaur.

Why is it called Wolf Lake?  And why are these “dog” footprints as large as my sneaker?

The moon is supposed to be at perigee, but it is depressingly dark.  Although it is twenty degrees or so, the snow cover is mostly gone, which cuts down on reflectivity.  I think there is a little mist over the moon, too. I have no tripod, so the photos were taken with the camera pressed firmly against a tree, rock, or fence post. The lightened background and the effects were done with Picasa 3, sorry it doesn’t do PNG, only JPG, so you see some squarish artifacts. Resizing for blog was done with Irfanview. Free programs all.

Here is a poem we were given to memorize in the 6th grade.  Actually we were given a choice between memorizing an insipid two page poem about animals for an A or a one page poem about a wolf for a B.   When it comes to sixth grade poetry , quantity must be the same as quality.  Everyone got the message and memorized the “A” poem, except for the top student in the class whose name was Barton (not Bart) who today is a German professor in Massachusetts. Barton memorized and recited both, ruining his straight A grades with one B just to make a point.  I also memorized the wolf poem, but didn’t tell anybody, which is how I can google it now.  I don’t care if it’s a children’s poem, I still like it.

The Wolf
Georgia Roberts Durston

When the pale moon hides and the wild wind wails,
And over the treetops the nighthawk sails,
The gray wolf sits on the world’s far rim
And howls: and it seems to comfort him.

The wolf is a lonely soul, you see,
No beast in the wood, nor bird in the tree,
But shuns his path; in the windy gloom
They give him plenty, and plenty of room.

So he sits with his long, lean face to the sky
Watching the ragged clouds go by.
There in the night, alone, apart,
Singing the song of his lone, wild heart.

Far away, on the world’s dark rim
He howls, and it seems to comfort him.

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One Response to “Still fishin’”

  1. paul Says:

    Njima, or work the general geographic area into this post somewhere. Thanks.


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