@keholsinger.bsky.social

@keholsinger.bsky.social

293 Followers 325 Following

A small cascade through slabs of granite leads to a pool. Forest stands around the pool and along the river. Sunshine bathes bare rocks around the cascade.
A screenshot of a Substack post by Ted Gioia who says, “This is why I use the Oxford comma.” Below his statement is a headline from the Toronto Star: “The latest historical fiction books take inspiration from Sylvia Plath, a New York vigilante and Shah of Iran.”
Granite blocks line a trench that leads to a granite wall with a rectangular opening. The trench is about 3 feet deep, and the wall is about 6 feet high. Ferns carpet the ground on both sides of the trench.
A still pond reflects a clear blue sky with a few summer clouds. Bushes cover the left shore to the foreground with oaks and maples standing above. The right shore appears in the middle, joking the left shore in the distance. A mixed deciduous forest covers the hills beyond.
If honor were profitable, everybody would be honorable. Thomas More
A stone damn crosses the frame with a flat pool behind reflecting the iron railroad bridge above. A thin sheet of water streams over the dam and cascades over black schist. Bright green deciduous trees surround the scene with low herbs carpeting the rocks at the left middle of the frame.
Without words, without writing, and without books there would be no history, there could be no concept of humanity. Hermann Hesse
I dwell in Possibility BY EMILY DICKINSON I dwell in Possibility– A fairer House than Prose– More numerous of Windows– Superior– for Doors– Of Chambers as the Cedars– Impregnable of Eye– And for an Everlasting Roof The Gambrels of the Sky– Of Visitors– the fairest– For Occupation– This– The spreading wide my narrow Hands To gather Paradise– (Sent from Poesie: https://itunes.apple.com/app/id1332841582)
The Lake Isle of Innisfree BY WILLIAM BUTLER YEATS I will arise and go now, and go to Innisfree, And a small cabin build there, of clay and wattles made; Nine bean-rows will I have there, a hive for the honey-bee, And live alone in the bee-loud glade. And I shall have some peace there, for peace comes dropping slow, Dropping from the veils of the morning to where the cricket sings; There midnight’s all a glimmer, and noon a purple glow, And evening full of the linnet’s wings. I will arise and go now, for always night and day I hear lake water lapping with low sounds by the shore; While I stand on the roadway, or on the pavements grey, I hear it in the deep heart’s core. (Sent from Poesie: https://itunes.apple.com/app/id1332841582)
You do not change people’s minds by defeating them with logic. Herbert Simon
Layered rock stands behind and to the right of slender deciduous trees with hay-scented fern carpeting the forest floor in front.
I had no time to hate BY EMILY DICKINSON I had no time to hate, because The grave would hinder me, And life was not so ample I Could finish enmity. Nor had I time to love; but since Some industry must be, The little toil of love, I thought, Was large enough for me. (Sent from Poesie: https://itunes.apple.com/app/id1332841582)
A pine boardwalk starts at the center and bends to the left 1/3 of the way up the frame. Willows border the boardwalk with one dead lodgepole pine standing to the right. A forest of lodgepoles stands in the middle ground beneath a clear blue sky.
A zig-zag fence of lodgepole pine logs leds from the lower left along a pasture to sagebrush. A disorderly pile of logs lies in the lower right, and a house with vertical yellow-brown boards stands to the left. Lodgepole pine cover the hills that lead to jagged granite peaks with snowfields in basins and on north-facing slopes.
A gravel path runs through the center of the frame, bending slightly left about halfway to the horizon. Short grass lies to either side of the path. Lodgepole pines cover the hillsides in the distance, with granite, snow-covered peaks behind to the right. White cumulus dot the left 2/3 of the sky.
Grass BY CARL SANDBURG Pile the bodies high at Austerlitz and Waterloo. Shovel them under and let me work— I am the grass; I cover all. And pile them high at Gettysburg And pile them high at Ypres and Verdun. Shovel them under and let me work. Two years, ten years, and passengers ask the conductor: What place is this? Where are we now? I am the grass. Let me work. (Sent from Poesie: https://itunes.apple.com/app/id1332841582)
A waterfall cascades over black rocks with a pair of small alders standing to the right. Moss-covered boulders on the far bank lead back to a forest green with new leaves that are not fully expanded.
The beautiful thing about learning is that no one can take it away from you. BB King From The Economist
It's no measure of health to be well adjusted to a profoundly sick society. Jiddu Krishnamurti
Slabs of schist and slate laid horizontally in a wall with one flat granite stone at the bottom in the right and a roundish one slightly above it in the lower right.
A photograph of Trillium erectum (red trillum). Three maroon petals surround six yellow stamens. Both are subtended by three green sepals alternating with the petals. One stem bears the flower with two large, opposite leaves. Dried leaves cover the forest floor. Tree trunks and the first leaves of spring are in the background.
Three deep red petals with six yellow stamens subtended by three green sepals atop two broad, green leaves on a single stem. Leaf litter on the forest floor. Tree trunks and an asphalt path in the background.
A wooden dock with four dinghys in the lower left half of the photo. The corner of a cabin cruiser in the middle right. Ruffled water in between. A footbridge with white railing rising from the top right to the top edge of the frame. Parts of a few buildings on the far shore.
A thin layer of snow covers grass with bare trees in the background
A small brook tumbles over black rocks between green bushes and trees overhead.
A thin layer of snow covers a lawn. A few azaleas are visible in the right foreground. Maple, oak, ash, beech, and a tulip tree are in the forest in the background. None have any leaves.
A top view of a gray coffee cup with brown trim filled with cappuccino. There’s a flower design on top.
Stripes of orange clouds cross a darkening sky behind a screen of bare deciduous trees.
No society can surely be flourishing and happy, of which the far greater part of the members are poor and miserable. Adam Smith
Variegated rocks fill the foreground with a damn in the middle ground (a sharp junction 2/3 of the way to the left). New England village buildings and bare deciduous trees in the background.
Green memory, by Langston Hughes A wonderful time - the War: When monet rolled in and blood rolled out. But blood was far away from here - Money was near.
There Will Come Soft Rains BY SARA TEASDALE (War Time) There will come soft rains and the smell of the ground, And swallows circling with their shimmering sound; And frogs in the pools singing at night, And wild plum trees in tremulous white, Robins will wear their feathery fire Whistling their whims on a low fence-wire; And not one will know of the war, not one Will care at last when it is done. Not one would mind, neither bird nor tree If mankind perished utterly; And Spring herself, when she woke at dawn, Would scarcely know that we were gone. (Sent from Poesie: https://itunes.apple.com/app/id1332841582)
Clouds and fog hang over distant hills. A lake is still, reflecting bare trees on the shore. A trunk stands in the right foreground and leans to the left.
A male Northern Cardinal perches on the edge of a feeder looking to the left of the frame. Seed is in the bottom of the feeder in the foreground. Deciduous trees and the corner of a house are in the background. Clouds a bit of blue sky are overhead.
Snow in the foreground. Bare deciduous trees stand I front of a sky scattered with pink clouds.
Final Curve, by Langston Hughes When you turn the corner And you run into _yourself_ Then you know that you have turned All the corners that are left.
The tips of blue cross country skis on a very narrow trail crossing a small brook with water to the left and right.
Two blue tipped skis on a narrow snow bridge over a small Brook. Water to the left and right with a wider trail just beyond the tips of the skis. The crossing is about half a meter wide.
A groomed cross country ski trail runs from the lower left to the middle right. It's wide enough that there is skate skiing on the left and parallel tracks for traditional cross country to the right. It is bordered by a mix of deciduous trees and hemlock. Blue sky hovers in the background.
Snowbanks in the foreground crossed by shadows leading to pines in the midground. A snow-covered pond stands below the pines, blue sky stands above, and a sun flare gleams in the lower part of the upper right corner.
A wide path covered with snow showing cross country ski tracks, both skating and traditional. Bare tree trunk stand on each side. Blue sky and clouds are visible through the trees.
Protea punctata flower (pink with white) surrounded by thick, leathery leaves on a couple of branches with mountains and clouds in the background.
Ruminations BY ESTHER PHILLIPS People born in the country are blessed; theirs is the gift of the beauty of silence; of moss-green ponds circled by greener shrubs and casuarina trees; frogs gazing at sudden burst of water-lillies; the myriad shades of green, soft water-silk of grass entangling butterflies; spiky khus-khus guarding hedgerows, white-seeded candy floss waving streaks of silver light over miles and miles of canefields; of a quick glimpse almost magical of brilliant red berries clustered on a vine; the golden leaves of coconut trees; yellow flowers spilling from an old mill-top. But most of all, there is the soft cadence of Nature’s music, muted, yet brilliant, drifting into the soul; the freeing of the senses and knowing that without beauty there is no truth, and without truth there is no spirit; that spirit is the spark of life itself reaching to all life outside of itself; and knowing that there’s nothing but oneness – nothing worth knowing but the harmony of all things. (Sent from Poesie: https://itunes.apple.com/app/id1332841582)
A black and white photo of a frozen pond with puddles of water on the ice, bare trees to the right, mist in front of trees on the far shore, and a cloudy sky.
The Second Coming BY WILLIAM BUTLER YEATS Turning and turning in the widening gyre The falcon cannot hear the falconer; Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold; Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world, The blood-dimmed tide is loosed, and everywhere The ceremony of innocence is drowned; The best lack all conviction, while the worst Are full of passionate intensity. Surely some revelation is at hand; Surely the Second Coming is at hand. The Second Coming! Hardly are those words out When a vast image out of Spiritus Mundi Troubles my sight: somewhere in sands of the desert A shape with lion body and the head of a man, A gaze blank and pitiless as the sun, Is moving its slow thighs, while all about it Reel shadows of the indignant desert birds. The darkness drops again; but now I know That twenty centuries of stony sleep Were vexed to nightmare by a rocking cradle, And what rough beast, its hour come round at last, Slouches towards Bethlehem to be born? (Sent from Poesie: https://itunes.apple.com/app/id1332841582)
An image with the words of this post.
Snow-covered white pines frame the photo on the left and right. A fallen log and shrubs are covered with snow in the foreground. The pond is covered with snow. Pines form the far shore in the distance, and blue sky rises above.
A tweet from Grok: “Based on 2025-2026 reports from Reuters, CCDH, EDMO, NewsGuard, and others across viewpoints, Elon Musk is most frequently cited s the top information spreader on X due to his reach and post views. Others like Trump and RFK Jr. are noted. This is subjective; verify with fact-checkers.”
If I can stop one heart from breaking BY EMILY DICKINSON If I can stop one heart from breaking, I shall not live in vain; If I can ease one life the aching, Or cool one pain, Or help one fainting robin Unto his nest again, I shall not live in vain. (Sent from Poesie: https://itunes.apple.com/app/id1332841582)