Thought for Today:
The human race as an invasive species is growing faster and causing considerably more problems than Japanese knot-weed or any other invasive species and we can see that nature is starting to make its move to cut back the threat posed. So live your own life and do not imagine that wherever you go you will be the big fish in the little pond. The truth is that, one way or another, nature will usually ensure that the aborigine flora and fauna will be the big fish.....will we, as a species, be around to see it?
Ferries:
All as Normal Today
We recommend checking the ferry web site if you are travelling any great distance, click the link: Cape Clear Island Ferries.com
Sea Condition:
Calm enough for a nice ferry trip. Getting a little rougher as the day grows older.
Tides:
Click the link for tide times in October: Tide Tables
The above are the tide tables for Cobh .
Simply add 15 minutes to each of the times and you will be close enough for Cape Clear
Wet / Dry / Windy /Sunny / Overcast / Temperature :
Dry at 11am; hardly any wind; Sunny with some cloud cover; very mild, almost warm. Changed at 2pm to showery and overcast.
Night Sky:
Clear
Richie's Blogs - Happenings on Cape Clear:
Click here: Daily News
Click here: Moths & Butterflies
Click here: Birds
Chickens x 5, Maggie; Oraiste; Teapot; Billybob; Ginger:
Eggs: 5
Sinead's Blogs:
One day
Fishing on Cape Clear:
Nothing doing but calm enough to try.
Books I am reading:
See earlier blogs
My Favourite Poems:
Song from Aella
O SING unto my roundelay,
O drop the briny tear with me;
Dance no more at holyday,
Like a running river be:
My love is dead,
Gone to his death-bed
All under the willow-tree.
Black his cryne as the winter night,
White his rode as the summer snow,
Red his face as the morning light,
Cold he lies in the grave below:
My love is dead,
Gone to his death-bed
All under the willow-tree.
Sweet his tongue as the throstle's note,
Quick in dance as thought can be,
Deft his tabor, cudgel stout;
O he lies by the willow-tree!
My love is dead,
Gone to his death-bed
All under the willow-tree.
Hark! the raven flaps his wing
In the brier'd dell below;
Hark! the death-owl loud doth sing
To the nightmares, as they go:
My love is dead,
Gone to his death-bed
All under the willow-tree.
See! the white moon shines on high;
Whiter is my true-love's shroud:
Whiter than the morning sky,
Whiter than the evening cloud:
My love is dead,
Gone to his death-bed
All under the willow-tree.
Here upon my true-love's grave
Shall the barren flowers be laid;
Not one holy saint to save
All the coldness of a maid:
My love is dead,
Gone to his death-bed
All under the willow-tree.
With my hands I'll dent the briers
Round his holy corse to gre:
Ouph and fairy, light your fires,
Here my body still shall be:
My love is dead,
Gone to his death-bed
All under the willow-tree.
Come, with acorn-cup and thorn,
Drain my heartes blood away;
Life and all its good I scorn,
Dance by night, or feast by day:
My love is dead,
Gone to his death-bed
All under the willow-tree.
Thomas Chatterton
