The Sparrow and the Rose: Edith Piaf.

Edith Piaf - 15 Dec 1915 - 11 Oct 1963.

Through my valley of faded youthfull memories, a song, played over our family's big old valve radio that took up half the frontroom, (as you called the best room in those days) still sings clear. It backdrops memories of ragged pants and barefoot childhood: falling from tall pine trees, roaming farm fields with my many brothers and sisters (the ones I wasn't fighting with at the time), a fox terrier and rusty pitchfork in hand tracking possums, walking the milk-cow 3 miles home, sister screaming her head off with big toe mangled in bike chain sprocket, being bullied at school and other images...all hung on to so desperately these days .

But vivid after so many years is this song. I loved that delicate, plaintive, lost soul voice that came from so far away but yet penetrated so deeply a young kid. I still love it.

The Sparrow and the Rose.

La Vie en Rose

the sparrow sang.

La Vie en Rose

and through the valley

the three bells rang.

From a Parisian street

on a cold winter's night

in a country ravaged by war

wings desperately beating as it took flight 

a little sparrow

would make our hearts soar.

La Vie en Rose

the sparrow sang

from the depths of an anguished soul.

La Vie en Rose

the little sparrow sang

in a voice so hauntingly sad.

La Vie en Rose

the bleeding sparrow sang

impaled on the thorns of life.

Edith Piaf - 15 Dec 1915 - 11 Oct 1963.

The Little Sparrow still sings in my valley.





The above poem, written by myself, was first published on Nov 3 2011 at John Reese's blog.
The French Way Blog: The Sparrow and the Rose.

The Sparrow and the Rose: Edith Piaf.

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A Rare Desert Beauty.

Fish River Canyon, Namibia.

A single flower blooming

in the desert, solitary,

in stark naked splendour 

it called out to me.

Had I never seen it

how disappointed I would be,

this small blaze of colour

and delicate symmetry.

Other travellers simply ignored it

or perhaps just couldn't see.

Will they always hurry

and miss each flowering desert beauty?

This small flower blooming

on a canyon's rocky rim,

a remarkable part of Nature's plan

not merely random whim.

Should a single flower bloom

in the desert, solitary:

were we to not observe it,

would it still be a rare beauty?

Wildflower, Damaraland, Namibia.

Whenever I think back about my three visits to Namibia I see desert flowers again.

A Rare Desert Beauty.

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Poacher's Moon.

There were stars that I once wished upon.

There was the moon, my guiding light.

They were signs that God was watching

Over all my friends each night.

But now a poacher's moon is rising

In this cloudless starry sky,

There's an evil hand stalks across this land:

Another rhino tonight will die.

So take the stars out of the heavens.

Take the moon down from the skies.

My friends now need the darkness,

In the darkness they must hide.

There's a cross for all who've fallen,

I hold a vigil by candlelight.

There's a prayer I share with those who care-

"Keep Our rhino safe tonight."

So take the stars out of the heavens.

Take the moon down from the skies.

The moon that was once my guiding light

Brings me misery tonight.

'Cause there's a poacher's moon now rising,

Death stalks the bright moonlight.

If another dies, I'm going to cry,

My heart will break tonight.

I'd take the stars out of the heavens.

I'd take the moon down from the skies.

I would mix them with all my tears and fears-

A magic shield so they can hide.

So take the stars out of the heavens.

Take the moon down from the skies.

Please God we need your blessings,

"Keep Our rhino safe tonight."

The inspiration for this post lies with some verse I sent to Ray Kieran, but the real genesis is the work that other rhino conservation activists are doing each full moon with a cross planting in Cape Town, South Africa to highlight all those rhino slaughtered merely because of Asian demand for their horn for Chinese Traditional Medicine beliefs.
Please read and share this group's work-
Planting Crosses For Fallen Rhino

 You can read more about this tragic situation of rhino poaching here-

Rhino wars.

This is the picture that inspired the above words-

Another cross planting takes place for this coming Poacher's Moon- 6th April.

Credits:

Ray Kieran.

The above poetry arose out of a conversation with Ray Keiran, a rhino conservation activist on OSCAP Facebook group-(Outraged SA Citizens Against Poaching).  I sent her a few lines and Ray was ecstatic over the words and meanings captured by them. So I developed the verses from those simple lines and sat on this poem for a few weeks seeking out suitable images to illustrate this with. 

 Ciske Kruger.
Then I approached Ciske Kruger, another gifted activist from OSCAP, sent her the words and asked her if she could interpret the words with romantic yet tragic imagery hoping the lyrics would inspire something special to include in this post. Ciske then posted these images on various Facebook groups where they received rapturous applause - as they should. And at the same time sent me the same images, less the text that appears in the originals. I asked Ciske to add crosses into her artwork!
Thanks Ray and Ciske!

Oh and keep checking this site...maybe these lyrics start something else!

Travel Photo Thursday is on again where travel bloggers post up their great pics from around the world. Join us! Head over to Nancie's  travel-photo-thursday-april-5-2012 and post up your travel photo and link into the fun!

Poacher's Moon.

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Marine Iguana: Evolution of species.

Ever since I read Charles Darwin's "Origin Of Species" as a 10 year old, I have been fascinated with Galapagos Islands. They were our first choice for my wife and I to celebrate our 40th wedding anniversary this past January. Finally a dream comes true!

Barren volcanic archipelago,

Formed by violent conflict down below

Where Nazca, Pacifica and Cusco

Constantly struggle to and fro.

This titanic clash of tectonic foes

Caused scorching molten lava flows

To erupt from ash draped volcanoes

To create the Islas Galapagos.

In these isolated and virgin lands,

Nature painted a different plan

Far from the interfering hands

Of that worst of predators- Man!

The harshest evolutionary course

Awaited the toughest participants

Unlucky to wash upon these shores:

Death for the losing contestants.

On jungle mainland, the blustery
Storm destroys an ancient tree,
And washes it down the river valley
Where currents carry it far to sea.

Though waves attack her plant life-station,
She clings on to the vegetation
Deep in suspended animation:
A refugee in enforced migration.

She washes ashore one stormy day.

Land she grasps with desperate claws,

And struggles through chill surf to lay

A tenuous hold on these barren shores.

Would fate have her survive and stay?

Or starve to death and then decay,

Just like each other poor castaway

Who had fertilized this barren bay?

Her slender, lithe and sinuous form-

Now unsuited for this harsh terrain-

While in jungle homeland trees the norm:

Here evolution would be set in train.

In the weeks she fights to stay alive,

The birthing of her young to arrive.

And from the few who will survive

New species Nature will contrive.

And from her brood one stumpy male

With shortened snout and paddle-tail,

To swim and forage he will prevail,

While all his siblings eventually fail.

When washed ashore one stormy morn,

Another spies this lonesome male.

And from their union more are born 

With shortened snout and paddle-tail.

In harsh and trying circumstance,

Sustaining traits Nature will enhance.

Those that adapt have better chance:

Natural selection, not happen-stance.

Marine iguanas scientists say,

Are merely Nature's adaptive way

Of how tree iguana have held sway

When mainland floods cast them away.

In reality, establishment of a new species on these islands would take many millions of years of castaways arriving and perishing there, but eventually a pregnant female would eke out a precarious existence and establish a line of descendants that would become our modern Land and Marine Iguana. 

Tree iguana, Iguana Park, central Guayaquil.

From the mainland Tree Iguana, Galapagos Islands Marine and Land Iguana are thought to have evolved. Rafts of vegetation are washed down mainland Ecuadorian rivers and out to sea carrying any animals clinging to it, most to perish in the waves. Being cold blooded, reptiles are able to survive long periods without food or water clinging to floating debris where cold temperatures will send them into inactivity or stupor. 

Marine Iguana, Rabida Island, Galapagos. 

Shorter, flattened tails for swimming, salt excretion glands, and shorter snouts with wider mouths enable these to be the only marine iguana specie.

Land Iguana probably evolved from similar castaway Tree Iguana stock.

Probability is that during the millions of years since early Tree Iguana were first washed ashore on Galapagos to adapt and survive there, the Tree Iguana on the mainland has also evolved further specialized adaptive features from the common ancestor of both.

Marine Iguana, Floreana Island, Galapagos.

Shortened snouts and widened mouths for cropping the algae and seaweed which it feeds on. Tails are flattened vertically to allow it to be an excellent and agile swimmer. Marine Iguana vary in size and coloration from island to island and the those of Floreana Island are the most colorful of all. 

Land Iguana, South Plaza Island.

 Note the different snout characteristics. Heavier and generally larger than the marine specie, its diet is mainly vegetation of which Opuntia would be around 80% from which it derives water. It will also eat insects or carrion. We observed one climbing a low bush to get to a frigate bird's nest, presumably after the eggs, but the weak branches would not support its weight and it fell a metre to the ground.

Marine Iguana: Evolution of species.

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I've Been Running....

I've been running on fast with the utter desperation

of trying to escape that image of tragedy.

I'm haunted right now by the sight of mutilation

of the mother who once loved and nurtured me.

I've been running on looking for some deep shading cover,

need to get some shelter over me.

Helicopter's close and soon they're gonna discover

just another wee frightened refugee.

They've got high powered guns.

They've got thermal imaging technology.

They've got tranquilizer drugs

and sharpened machetes.

So there's nowhere to run!

Nowhere a safe retreat!

Panicked and stunned:

just another...

 desperate refugee.

I've been running on low and feeling that deep exhaustion,

panicking with the loss of energy.

But driven on now by the thought of extermination

of the mother that once loved and protected me.

I've been running on long from the stink of the decimation.

Horns are going to be the death of me.

Anyone hear, can you enforce the regulations

on the killers of the mother that once cared for me?

Let's get more APU teams moving.

Let's find the funds -

for high powered guns!

And get those prosecutions moving!

No bail for these -

just throw away the keys.

Don't allow no smooth talking lawyers

in a world that treats poachers so leniently.

Or there's...

nowhere to run.

Nowhere a safe retreat.

Hunted and gunned:

just another...

disappeared specie.

Rhino poaching total for 2007 in South Africa was 13.

2011 saw 488 kills.

At the time of writing this post, already the total for 2012 is now 94!  Total now 109!  119!
Edited 23/3/12. Now 139!
over 300!

The overall world total will be higher.

For more information on why rhino poaching is escalating read -
Graphic Images from The Rhino Wars

Pictures of rhino calf are by 

Pam Krzyza of Outraged South African Citizens Against Poaching.

Join OSCAP here- https://www.facebook.com/groups/OSCAP/

Join Save Our Rhino here- https://www.facebook.com/groups/saveourrhino/

I've Been Running....

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Where are the young and clucky girls?

Photo by Matt Binns- Tui on flax or harakeke.

A tui sits on highest tree

Singing out so desperately,

"Oh won't you make a nest with me?

I'll share with you my love."

He's sung his song

For oh so long

He wonders now what he's done wrong,

But still sings from high above.

Where are the young and clucky girls?

There should be one out in this world.

Are they busy chasing pretty jewels,

Instead of one true love?

There used to be a time that we

Together would raise a family,

And give our young security.

But now that's not enough.

How can we raise our kids today,

Without two parents home to stay?

A man who's strong when youngsters stray,

And mentor them from wrong.

With a woman's sensitivity

To nurture their ability

And sense of responsibility

To keep our families strong.

A tui sings from highest tree,

Calling out so desperately,

While our own society.....

Falls apart. 

Where are the young and clucky girls?

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Empty Silence Is Not A Natural Sound: Hunter's Insomnia.

I raise my head up off the red dirt ground

To watch the fiery sun go down.

Where once I would sleep soundly in the black depths

To the lions roaring sound,

If we heard the comfort of branches snap and crackle,

We knew the big eles were around.

Now no leopard coughs, no jackal yelps, no hyena sarcastic laugh,

Awake, I cannot lay me down.

All around the vacant silence disturbs me,

This empty silence is not a natural sound.

We climbed the rocky koppies to search in vain,

Where once the great migration filled our gaze.

The scorched ground now barely fertile

Where the blood and bone decays.

There the scant grass grows the sweetest,

Cattle scatter skeletons to graze.

The curse of the charcoal-burners

Infesting the horizon with their smoky haze.

Gone are acacia-thorn and spreading shepherd trees

Under whose shade umbrellas we would laze.

Once we could look across the savannah,

Where the massive herds would parade.

The bribery for trophy permits we would pay

Far more than we would ever dare to tell.

We sent the big tuskers to their grave,

Rhino, lion, leopard - Ah, what the hell!

Anything in our way!

Oh, the hyena and vultures prospered swell!

Now within my massive halls so heavily adorned,

I brag, my courageous tales I tell,

My walls covered with those rare horned,

I got them before their last death knell.

Therein, I rest and slumber oh, so well!

http://www.all-creatures.org/hope/anti-th-20080320.htm

Empty Silence Is Not A Natural Sound: Hunter's Insomnia.

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Who Are The Beasts?

Photo Courtesy David Sheldrick Trust.

Shukuru,

Elephant of the great heart.

Once an orphan, still a child,

Now you play the mother's part.

Do you remember how you lost your mum,

Leaving you the traumatised one?

Now Kithaka feels your consoling trunk,

And loving heart.

What guides the love you now impart?

Is that just instinct?

Or intelligent art?

Shukuru,

Elephant of the great soul.

You need take on the mother's role.

Do you whisper? " I know the pain.

But here you're with family again."

As poachers take their deadly toll,

The killing soars out of control,

To satisfy the Chinese role.

That bloody trade, so inhumane!

When will it end?

What will remain?

Shukuru,

Elephant of the loving heart,

You show us how the healing starts.

This photo now just sent to me

Of human made refugees,

Provokes my thought, how can it be,

That man feels such superiority

Over the lowly beasts?

When it comes to love and morality,

Who knows the most? 

Who knows the least?

Elephant intelligence, social behavior, and family concern can show we humans a lot.
Read about elephant's intelligence and complex social codes here- Elephant intelligence

How is it, that young orphans themselves, welcome a strange orphan to their young herd?

Why can we not believe they have the intelligence to recognize what each new orphan has been through, and can console another to recover from trauma?

Who are the beasts?

 Shukuru is an orphan we adopted soon after she arrived at David Sheldrick Trust, Kenya. Now this 2 year old is welcoming new arrivals and ably taking on a mother's caring role of a new rescue - Kithaka.
Read the orphan stories here- http://www.sheldrickwildlifetrust.org/asp/orphans.asp one of the leading elephant and rhino sanctuaries in Africa.
 Our plan is to visit the sanctuary in Nairobi, hopefully as early as July 2012. It's a big buzz to read about about our adopted ele orphans in each monthly report; we really look forward to them!
For a small annual amount you too can help in saving Africa's wildlife. When we all work together we make a big difference.

Who Are The Beasts?

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Should the Taj Mahal to ever face harm?

Taj Mahal, Agra, India. Picture by Jim McIntosh.

Should the Taj Mahal to ever face harm

The world would react in haste.

As rhino are slaughtered to their last breath

Will we react in time?

While man-made beauty can be rebuilt

Mother Nature's we cannot replace.

As we stand in awe of human endeavour

Of Great Wall and stone pyramid

Do we spare a thought that we built them all?

Were they gone, we’d soon fill that space.

The treasures of Nature which abound

For millions of years of time

May soon disappear and not be here

For your children, and those of mine.

Why aren't our governments reacting?
Where is their financial commitment
To the Anti-Poaching Units
And much tougher court judgement?

Temples of Angkor Wat we conserve

Stonehenge and Pisa Tower

Our valuable World Heritage Parks
That every Nation with money preserves.

While tiger sigh, and lion cry

And the elephant trumpets its last

Nature’s gifts are slaughtered and die

For the want of similar status.

When you finally gaze upon the Pearl

Or have the chance to enjoy the thrill

Of the Colosseum at dawn

Pray, spare a thought

Don't you think we aught

Protect the most precious jewels of all?

The reek of a rhino carcass leaves

A stink in my memory veins

But to keep them roaming wild and free

We need to effect great change

That rhino horn is not a medicine for Chinese Traditional Medicine.

 Dead rhino, Imbambala, Loskop Dam Nature Reserve. Picture by Jim McIntosh

The saddest sight from our safari to Loskop Dam Nature Reserve, South Africa. 
I can still 'smell' this scene.

The above poem is based upon a line I came across somewhere, which I remembered and serves as my first line. I'd like to acknowledge the author and thank him, for setting my mind upon exploring the theme. I have no wish to plagiarise.

Why are nations quick to conserve human-built wonders, but loath to commit fully to stopping the trade in endangered species?

There are many conservation NGOs fighting to protect rhino. The last Javan sub-specie has been killed on the Asian mainland.

The last Western Black Rhino has been killed in Africa. 

savetherhinotrust.org/

www.rhinoconservation.org/

www.sheldrickwildlifetrust.org

Dedicated to Dr Clay Wilson, Laura, and all wildlife in peril.

Should the Taj Mahal to ever face harm?

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Golden Eagles & Weeping Kiwis: A Mongolian Farewell!

The Golden Eagle features in the culture of Mongolia. Kazakh tribes in Western Mongolia have an intimate relationship with eagles, capturing young Golden Eagles and training them as hunters of marmot, fox, and wolves. Eagle hunting.

But to me, an eagle is more than that: it represents thoughts and feelings, friendships and memories that transcend time, space and dimensions, soaring on forever.

Friends we make upon the travelling road may be wonderful, fun and interesting companions for a fleeting moment in time, to reside faintly in our memories after we part. A few may be remembered fondly because exciting events were shared and enjoyed, creating special bonds that go beyond just a casual encounter.

How do you reflect upon the good friends you have met on your journeys? 

Photo of Golden Eagle by Bill Clark.

Play this as you read the words. Then play it again throughout the story I have to tell.

White Stupa No 1 by  N Jantsannorov.

 A famous, Russian trained, Mongolian composer.

Across azure Mongolian sky

Golden eagle soars, wings spread wide.

Where trails diverge, the blue flags fly,

Ovoo spirits are our destinies guides.

Rock cairns - Ovoo - besides roads and trails where travellers walk three times clockwise to invoke good fortune on their travels.

The eagle looks down upon the place

Where on Orkhon River's grassy swathes

Cotton carpets the trees' green glades,

Lasting friendships were duly made.

Tranquility.

Wool from Cotton Wool trees covers the ground where we enjoyed a barbecue picnic with friends beside the Orkhon River near Khar Khorin, Mongolia.

Grasslands reach to horizon clear

Crushed thyme scents the crystal air

See horse and rider hurry there

For Naadam Festival draws near,

When silk clad wrestlers will vie their chance:

The victor does the eagle dance.

Wrestlers prepare during Naadam Festival. Victor of each bout dances with arms stretched wide simulating an eagle in flight.

When came the time for sad goodbyes

And new found friends need pass on by,

Fragments of our hearts will now reside

With the Eagle flying free and high.

Communities throughout Mongolia hold their own local Festivities at Naadam. Not unusual to see lone riders, often very young children, galloping across the vast grass steppes preparing  for upcoming races.

 White Stupa No 1 is often playing in our home or my workshop, especially through June and July, those months when we know Naadam Festival season occurs in Mongolia. For us, it's both a reflective, soothing tune and a very powerful melody. We're both back in Mongolia!

Deegii bought us the CD. Deegii is nephew of the family we were homestayed with in Ulaan Baatar, 7 days living and travelling with Zundui and wife Armara in 2005, on a Friendship Force exchange.

With no common language, communication boils down to more basic gestures and body language to get feelings across. You have to really concentrate on the person, and give deeper thought as to how you convey meaning and needs, and similarly you have to pay attention intensely to your new friend's feelings and intent.

Perhaps you reach each other on a deeper level? 
Perhaps language smothers at times? 
7 days getting to know each other, without common language, creates deep, lasting bonds.

Departure.

Driving towards the airport on the morning of our departure, the thought that I would never see Zundui and Armara again hit me. Kay looked glum also. I was wondering, after all the short but intense time we had spent together, just how our friends felt about us, and did our leaving mean much to them?

Zundui and Armara were also quiet, then an animated discussion ensued between them. Zundui made a mobile phone call, chatted to someone, then switched on the 4WD radio and turned the volume up. A few minutes later we heard the announcer speaking in Mongolian, but with "Jim and Kay" interspersed several times coming over the radio! Zundui and Armara were also excitedly pointing at us, and to the radio, saying "Jim and Kay ". Then the announcer switched to English and dedicated the next tune to  friends of Zundui and Armara - "Jim and Kay, who are leaving Mongolia." 

I don't often cry, but tears filled my eyes; Kay was blubbering, and two weeping Kiwis listened intently to the music dedicated to us on that final farewell drive. It was a joyously sad time.

Thanks Zundui and Armara - it was the best of times.

On our return home, there was a big let down emotionally for some weeks - post travel depression syndrome. Then one day I decided to chuck one of the CDs I had brought back from Mongolia on the stereo. Part way through track five, Kay and I looked at each other as we recognised the tune playing as our "Farewell" tune!

White Stupa No 1.

In Mongolia, Stupa represent the Buddha's body and relics placed within it represent the life energy.
Simple rock cairns or Ovoo lie beside paths and roads where travellers may invoke good fortune for the journey by walking around it three times clockwise, and placing an item there, often a stone or pebble. Over time, the ovoo become quite large. Prayer flags will also fly above. Blue represents sky or space, white for air or wind.

Zundui and Armara used modern technology to create an online Ovoo to wish us good fortune for our travels by having the radio station play White Stupa No 1. We left Mongolia with our stupa on CD. Good fortune certainly has enveloped us.

It's a wonderful, hauntingly melancholic but inspiring tune, very evocative of the vast, natural and raw country with beautiful people with the hugest, whitest-teethed smiles.

And the best part is, now that I have written that verse, I can sing along with the music! Everyday!

For Zundui, Armara and family. Hope we meet again!

http://thefriendshipforce.org/

Golden Eagles & Weeping Kiwis: A Mongolian Farewell!

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