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# _Contents_

Foreword

For Instance

The Willows of Massachusetts

The Cat as Cat

Revivals

April in Ohio

Ceremonies

Those Who Want Out

The Stricken Children

Tragic Error

Engraved

Sound of the Axe

The Vron Woods (North Wales)

Web

The Braiding

At One

Urgent Whisper

Protesting at the Nuclear Test Site

What It Could Be

It Should Be Visible

Chant: Sunset, Somerville, Late Fall '75

Heights, Depths, Silence, Unceasing Sound of the Surf

From the Train, Eastward

The Cabbage Field

Concurrence

Brother Ivy

Praise of a Palmtree

Come into Animal Presence

The Life of Others

The Life Around Us

"Silent Spring"

In California: Morning, Evening, Late January

Flying High

Mappemonde

The Reminder

In the Woods

Indian Summer

Creature to Creature

A Reward

The Almost-Island

What One Receives from Living Close to a Lake

Salvation

Living

Settling

Elusive

Morning Mist

Effacement

Presence

The 6:30 Bus, Late May

Midsummer Eve

The Mountain Assailed

Pentimento

Mirage

Looking Through

Whisper

Open Secret

Witness

Against Intrusion

Forest Altar, September

A South Wind

Sojourns in the Parallel World

NOTES

# _Foreword_

As I have quite frequently found myself obliged to skip back and forth from book to book when reading to audiences composed of people whose work and vocation was in ecology, conservation, and restoration, it was suggested that I put together a selection of thematically relevant poems, which would be useful not only to the many earth-science people who, I have found, do love poetry, but also to the general public.

In compiling this volume I've drawn mainly on my more recent books, but have included also a number of older poems, written when, like the rest of us, I was less conscious of all that threatens the earth, but nevertheless shared with most poets in every time and place an ardent love of what my eyes and other senses revealed to me in the world we call 'nature.'

In these last few decades of the twentieth century it has become ever clearer to all thinking people that although we humans are a part of nature ourselves, we have become, in multifarious ways, an increasingly destructive element within it, shaking and breaking the 'great web' —perhaps irremediably. So a poet, although often impelled, as always, to write poems of pure celebration, is driven inevitably to lament, to anger, and to the expression of dread. And in arranging the poems I've chosen here. I decided not to group them separately—praise-poems in one clump, laments and fears in another—but to follow (though not always in chronological order) the natural undulations and alternations I experienced in writing now in one vein, now in another, whether in separate poems or in those in which celebration and the fear of loss are necessarily conjoined. I believe this flux and reflux echo what readers also feel in their response to 'the green world.'

—Denise Levertov

# _The Life
Around Us_

# For Instance

Often, it's nowhere special: maybe

a train rattling not fast or slow

from Melbourne to Sydney, and the light's fading,

we've passed that wide river remembered

from a tale about boyhood and fatal love, written

in vodka prose, clear and burning—

the light's fading and then

beside the tracks this particular

straggle of eucalypts, an inconsequential

bit of a wood, a coppice, looks your way,

not at you, through you, through the train,

over it—gazes with branches and rags of bark

to something beyond your passing. It's not,

this shred of seeing, more beautiful

than a million others, less so than many;

you have no past here, no memories,

and you'll never set foot among these shadowy

tentative presences. Perhaps when you've left this continent

you'll never return; but it stays with you:

years later, whenever

its blurry image flicks on in your head,

it wrenches from you the old cry:

O Earth, belovéd Earth!

—like many another faint

constellation of landscape does, or fragment

of lichened stone, or some old shed

where you took refuge once from pelting rain

in Essex, leaning on wheel or shafts

of a dusty cart, and came out when you heard

a blackbird return to song though the rain

was not quite over; and, as you thought there'd be,

there was, in the dark quarter where frowning clouds

were still clustered, a hesitant trace

of rainbow; and across from that the expected

gleam of East Anglian afternoon light, and leaves

dripping and shining. Puddles, and the roadside weeds

washed of their dust. Earth,

that inward cry again—

_Erde, du liebe..._

# _The Willows of Massachusetts_

Animal willows of November

in pelt of gold enduring when all else

has let go all ornament

and stands naked in the cold.

Cold shine of sun on swamp water,

cold caress of slant beam on bough,

gray light on brown bark.

Willows—last to relinquish a leaf,

curious, patient, lion-headed, tense

with energy, watching

the serene cold through a curtain

of tarnished strands.

# _The Cat as Cat_

The cat on my bosom

sleeping and purring

—fur-petalled chrysanthemum,

squirrel-killer—

is a metaphor only if I

force him to be one,

looking too long in his pale, fond,

dilating, contracting eyes

that reject, mirrors, refuse

to observe what bides

stockstill.

Likewise

flex and reflex of claws

gently pricking through sweater to skin

gently sustain their own tune,

not mine. I-Thou, cat, I-Thou.

# Revivals

_When to my melancholy_

_All is folly_

then the whirr

of the hummingbird

at intervals throughout the day

is all that's sure

to stir me, makes me

jump up, scattering

papers, books, pens—

To the bay window,

and certainly

there he is below it

true-aimed at the minute cups of

Coral Bells, swerving

perfectly,

the fierce, brilliant faith

that pierces the heart all summer

and sips bitter insects steeped in nectar,

prima materia

of gleam-and-speed-away.

_A passion so intense_

_It driveth sorrow hence_...

# _April in Ohio_

Each day

the cardinals call and call in the rain,

each cadence scarlet

among leafless buckeye,

and passionately

the redbuds, that can't wait

like other blossoms, to flower

from fingertip twigs,

break forth

as Eve from Adam's

cage of ribs,

straight from amazed treetrunks.

Lumps ol snow

are melting in tulip-cups.

# _Ceremonies_

The ash tree drops the few dry leaves it bore in May,

stands naked by mid-July.

When each day's evil news drains into the next,

a monotonous overflow,

has a tree's dying lost the right to be mourned?

No—life's indivisible. And this tree,

rooted beyond my fence, has been,

branch and curved twig, in leaf or bare, the net

that held the sky in my window.

Trunk in deep shade, its lofting crown

offers to each long day's

pale glow after the sun

is almost down, an answering gold—

the last light

held and caressed.

# _Those Who Want Out_

In their homes, much glass and steel. Their cars

are fast—walking's (or children, except in rooms.

When they take longer trips, they think with contempt

of the jet's archaic slowness. Monastic

in dedication to work, they apply honed skills,

impatient of less than perfection. They sleep by day

when the bustle of lives might disturb their research,

and labor beneath fluorescent light in controlled environments

fitting their needs, as the dialects

in which they converse, with each other or with

the machines (which are not called machines)

are controlled and fitting. The air they breathe

is conditioned. Coffee and coke keep them alert.

But no one can say they don't dream,

that they have no vision. Their vision

consumes them, they think all the time

of the city in space, they long for the permanent colony,

not just a lab up there, the whole works,

malls, racquet courts, hot tubs, state-of-the-art

ski machines, entertainment... Imagine it, they think,

way out there, outside of 'nature,' unhampered,

a place contrived by man, supreme

triumph of reason. They know it will happen.

_They do not love the earth_.

# _The Stricken Children_

The Wishing Well was a spring

bubbling clear and soundless into a shallow pool

less than three feet across, a hood of rocks

protecting it, smallest of grottoes, from falling leaves,

the pebbles of past wishes peacefully underwater, old desires

forgotten or fulfilled. No one threw money in, one had to search

for the right small stone.

This was the place from which

year after year in childhood I demanded my departure,

my journeying forth into the world of magical

cities, mountains, otherness —the place which gave

what I asked, and more; to which

still wandering, I returned this year, as if

to gaze once more at the face

of an ancient grandmother.

And I found the well

filled to the shallow brim

with debris of a culture's sickness—

with bottles, tins, paper, plastic—

the soiled bandages

of its aching unconsciousness.

Does the clogged spring still moisten

the underlayer of waste?

Was it children threw in the rubbish?

Children who don't dream, or dismiss

their own desires and

toss them down, discarded packaging?

I move away, walking fast', the impetus

of so many journeys pushes me on,

but where are the stricken children of this time, this place,

to travel to, in Time if not in Place,

the grandmother wellspring choked, and themselves not aware

of all they are doing-without?

# _Tragic Error_

_The earth is the Lord's_ , we gabbled,

_and the fullness thereof_ —

while we looted and pillaged, claiming indemnity:

_the fullness thereof_

_given over to us, to our use_ —

while we preened ourselves, sure of our power,

wilful or ignorant, through the centuries.

Miswritten, misread, that charge:

_subdue_ was the false, the misplaced word in the story.

Surely we were to have been

earth's mind, mirror, reflective source.

Surely our task was to have been

to love the earth,

to _dress and keep it_ like Eden's garden.

_That_ would have been our _dominion:_

to be those cells of earth's body that could

perceive and imagine, could bring the planet

into the haven it is to be known,

(as the eye blesses the hand, perceiving

its form and the work it can do).

# _Engraved_

A man and woman

sit by the riverbank.

He fishes,

she reads.

The fish are not biting.

She has not turned the page

for an hour.

The light around them

holds itself taut,

no shadow moves,

but the sky and the woods,

look, are dark.

Night has advanced upon them.

# _Sound of the Axe_

Once a woman went into the woods.

The birds were silent. Why? she said.

Thunder, they told her,

thunder's coming.

_Sound of the Axe_

She walked on, and the trees were dark

and rustled their leaves. Why? she said.

The great storm, they told her,

the great storm is coming.

She came to the river, it rushed by

without reply, she crossed the bridge,

she began to climb

up to the ridge where grey rocks

bleach themselves, waiting

for crack of doom,

and the hermit

had his hut, the wise man

who had lived since time began.

When she came to the hut there was no one.

But she heard his axe.

She heard

the listening forest.

She dared not follow the sound

of the axe. Was it

the world-tree he was felling?

Was this the day?

# _The Vron Woods (North Wales)_

In the night's dream of day

the woods were fragrant.

Carapaced, slender, vertical,

red in the slant

fragmented light, uprose

Scotch firs,

boughs a vague smoke of

green.

Underfoot

the slipping

of tawny needles.

I was wholly there,

aware of each step

in the hum of quietness,

each breath.

Sunlight

a net

of discs and lozenges, holding

odor of rosin.

These were the Vron Woods,

felled

seven years before 1 was born,

levelled,

to feed a war.

# _Web_

Intricate and untraceable

weaving and interweaving,

dark strand with light:

designed, beyond

all spiderly contrivance,

to link, not to entrap:

elation, grief, joy, contrition, entwined;

shaking, changing,

forever

forming,

transforming:

_all praise_ ,

all praise to the

great web.

# _The Braiding_

The way the willow-bark

braids its furrows

is answered by the willow-branches

swaying their green leaf-weavings

over the river shallows,

assenting, affirming.

# At One

_The mountain's spine, the cow's ridge_

the saddle dip,

high flanks,

spur of ranged

spruce, tail

to brush at flies, valley air

between them, and

nothing else.

# _Urgent Whisper_

It could be the role of Earth's tight chest,

her lungs scarred from old fevers, and she asleep—

but there's no news from the seismographs,

the crystal pendant

hangs plumb from its hook;

and yet at times (and I whisper because

it's a fearful thing I tell you)

a subtle shudder has passed

from outside me into my bones,

up from the ground beneath me,

beneath this house, beneath

the road and the trees:

a silent delicate trembling no one has spoken of,

as if a beaten child or a captive animal

lay waiting the next blow.

It comes from the Earth herself, I tell you,

Earth herself. I whisper

because I'm ashamed. Isn't the earth our mother?

Isn't it we who've brought

this terror upon her?

# _Protesting at the Nuclear Test Site_

A year before, this desert

had raised its claws to me,

importunate and indifferent, half-naked beggar

displaying sores at the city gates.

Now again, in the raw glare

of Lent. Spikes, thorns, spines.

Where was the beauty others perceived?

_I_ could not.

But when the Shoshone elder spoke,

last year and now once more,

slowly I began to see what I saw as ugly were marks

of torture. When he was young this was desert, too,

but of different aspect, austere but joyful.

A people's reverence illumined stony ground.

Now, as my mind knew but imagination strained to

acknowledge,

deep, deep and narrow the holes were bored

into the land's innards, and there, in savage routine,

Hiroshima blasts exploded, exploded, rape

repeated month after month for years.

What repelled me here was no common aridity

unappealing to lovers of lakes and trees,

but anguish, lineaments drab with anguish. This terrain

turned to the human world a gaze

of scorn, victim to tormentor.

Slowly

revulsion unstiffened itself, I learned

almost to love

the dry and hostile earth, its dusty growth

of low harsh plants, sparse in unceasing wind;

could almost have bent

to kiss that leper face.

# _What It Could Be_

Uranium, with which we know

only how to destroy,

lies always under

the most sacred lands—

Australia, Africa, America,

wherever it's found is found an oppressed

ancient people who knew

long before white men found and named it

that there under their feet

under rock, under mountain, deeper

than deepest watersprings, under

the vast deserts familiar inch by

inch to their children

lay a great power.

And they knew the folly

of wresting, wrestling, ravaging from the earth

that which it kept

so guarded.

Now, now, now at this instant,

men are gouging lumps of that power, that presence,

out of the tortured planet the ancients

say is our mother.

Breaking the doors

of her sanctum, tearing the secret

out of her flesh.

But left to lie, its metaphysical weight

might in a million years have proved

benign, its true force being to be

a clue to righteousness—

showing forth

the human power

_not_ to kill, to choose

not to kill: to transcend

the dull force of our weight and will;

that known profound presence, untouched,

the sign

providing witness,

occasion,

ritual

for the continuing act of

_non_ violence, of passionate

reverence, active love.

# _It Should Be Visible_

If from Space not only sapphire continents,

swirling oceans, were visible, but the wars—

like bonfires, wildfires, forest conflagrations,

flame and smoky smoulder— the Earth would seem

a bitter pomander ball bristling with poison cloves.

And each war fuelled with weapons: it should be visible

that great sums of money have been exchanged,

great profits made, workers gainfully employed

to construct destruction, national economies distorted

so that these fires, these wars, may burn

and consume the joy of this one planet

which, seen from outside its transparent tender shell,

is so serene, so fortunate, with its water, air

and myriad forms of life that wants to live.

It should be visible that this bluegreen globe

suffers a canker which is devouring it.

# _Chant: Sunset, Somerville, Late Fall '75_

Cloudy luminous rose-mallow sundown,

suffusing the whole

roof-and-branch-interrupted lofty

air, blue fishscale slates,

wires, poles, trolleycars, flash

of window,

rectangular Catholic tall campanile abstracted

above North Cambridge, people heads down

leaving the store with groceries, bathed—

all!—utterly

in this deepening, poised,

fading-to-ivory oxbowed river of

light,

one drop

of crimson lake to a brimming

floodwater chalice

and we at the lees of it—ah,

no need to float, to long

to float upward, into it, sky itself

is floating us into the dusk, we are motes

of gold brushed from the fur

of mothwings, night is

breathing

close to us,

dark, soft.

# _Heights, Depths, Silence,
Unceasing Sound of the Surf_

Are they birds or butterflies?

They are sailing, two, not a flock,

more silver-white than the high

clouds, blissful

solitary lovers in infinite azure.

Below them, within the reef,

green shallows, transparent.

Beyond,

bounded by angry lace that

flails the coral,

the vast,

ironic dark Pacific.

_Tonga, 1979_

# _From the Train, Eastward_

Furry blond wheatfield in

predawn light—I

thought it was a frozen pond.

•

Small town, early morning.

No cars. Sunlit

children wait for the green light.

•

A deer! It leapt the fence,

scared of the train!

Did anyone else see it?

And twenty miles later

again a deer,

the exact same arc of gold!

•

After the trumpets, the

kettledrums, the

bold crescendo of mountains—

prairie subtleties, verbs

declined in gray,

green tones sustained, vast plainsong.

# _The Cabbage Field_

Both Taine and the inland English child

were mocked for their independent

comparison of the sea to a field of cabbages:

but does this field

of blue and green and purple curling

turmoil of ordered curves, reaching

out to the smoky twilight's immense

ambiguousness we call

_horizon_ , resemble

anything but the sea?

# _Concurrence_

Each day's terror, almost

a form of boredom—madmen

at the wheel and

stepping on the gas and

the brakes no good—

and each day one,

sometimes two, morning-glories,

faultless, blue, blue sometimes

flecked with magenta, each

lit from within with

the first sun light.

# _Brother Ivy_

Between road and sidewalk, the broadleafed ivy,

unloved, dusty, littered, sanctuary of rats,

gets on with its life. New leaves shine gaily

among dogged older ones

that have lost their polish.

It does not require appreciation. The foliage

conceals a brown tangle of stems

thick as a mangrove swamp; the roots

are spread tenaciously. Unwatered

throughout the long droughts, it simply

grips the dry ground by the scruff of the neck.

I am not its steward.

If we are siblings, and I

my brother's keeper therefore,

the relation is reciprocal. The ivy

meets its obligation by pure

undoubtable being.

# _Praise of a Palmtree_

Tufts of brassy henna in the palm's

shaggy topknot—O Palm,

I like it, I like it!

And the dingy underlayer,

bedraggled skirt, tattered collar

around your furrowed neck, or is it your body,

that stout column?

You stay awake

all night every night

and tonight will be full moon. It's March,

and the ground beneath you

crunches under bicycle tires

where you littered it with your fruit,

those shiny brown things—I must take

a nutcracker to one some day, are they edible?

You let them fall

like a kid in the movies dropping a trail of popcorn.

Are you asleep up there,

your tousled green uncombed,

sunning yourself? Your way of paying

no attention, feline, and yet

strutting your crazy finery fit to kill,

I like it, I like it.

# _Come into Animal Presence_

Come into animal presence.

No man is so guileless as

the serpent. The lonely white

rabbit on the roof is a star

twitching its ears at the rain.

The llama intricately

folding its hind legs to be seated

not disdains but mildly

disregards human approval.

What joy when the insouciant

armadillo glances at us and doesn't

quicken his trotting

across the track into the palm brush.

What is this joy? That no animal

falters, but knows what it must do?

That the snake has no blemish,

that the rabbit inspects his strange surroundings

in white star-silence? The llama

rests in dignity, the armadillo

has some intention to pursue in the palm-forest.

Those who were sacred have remained so,

holiness does not dissolve, it is a presence

of bronze, only the sight that saw it

faltered and turned from it.

An old joy returns in holy presence.

# _The Life of Others_

Their high pitched baying

as if in prayer's unison

remote, undistracted, given over

utterly to belief,

the skein of geese

voyages south,

hierarchic arrow of its convergence toward

the point of grace

swinging and rippling, ribbon tail

of a kite, loftily

over lakes where they have not

elected to rest,

over men who suppose

earth is man's, over golden earth

preparing itself

for night and winter.

We humans

are smaller than they, and crawl

unnoticed,

about and about the smoky map.

# _The Life Around Us_

## for David Mitchell and David Hass

Poplar and oak awake

all night. And through

all weathers of the days of the year.

There is a consciousness

undefined.

Yesterday's twilight, August

almost over, lasted, slowly changing,

until daybreak. Human sounds

were shut behind curtains.

No human saw the night in this garden,

sliding blue into morning.

Only the sightless trees,

without braincells, lived it

and wholly knew it.

# _"Silent Spring"_

O, the great sky!

Green and steep

the solid waves of the land,

breasts, shoulders, haunches,

serene.

The waveless ocean

arches its vertical silver,

molten, translucent.

Fine rain

browses the valley, moves

inland.

And flocks

of sunlight fly

from hill to hill.

The land

smiles in its sleep.

But listen...

no crisp susurration of crickets.

One lone frog. One lone

faraway whippoorwill. Absence.

No hum, no whirr.

And look:

the tigerish thistles, bold

yesterday,

curl in sick yellowing.

Drop the wild lettuce!

Try not to breathe!

Laboriously

the spraytruck

has ground its way

this way.

Hear your own steps

in violent silence.

# _In California: Morning, Evening,
Late January_

Pale, then enkindled,

light

advancing,

emblazoning

summits of palm and pine,

the dew

lingering,

scripture of

scintillas.

Soon the roar

of mowers

cropping the already short

grass of lawns,

men with long-nozzled

cylinders of pesticide

poking at weeds,

at moss in cracks of cement,

and louder roar

of helicopters off to spray

vineyards where _bracero_ try

to hold their breath,

and in the distance, bulldozers, excavators,

babel of destructive construction.

Banded by deep oakshadow, airy

shadow of eucalyptus,

miner's lettuce,

tender, untasted,

and other grass, unmown,

luxuriant,

no green more brilliant.

Fragile paradise.

• • • •

At day's end the whole sky,

vast, unstinting, flooded with transparent

mauve,

tint of wisteria,

cloudless

over the malls, the industrial parks,

the homes with the lights going on,

the homeless arranging their bundles.

• • • •

Who can utter

the poignance of all that is constantly

threatened, invaded, expended

and constantly

nevertheless

persists in beauty,

tranquil as this young moon

just risen and slowly

drinking light

from the vanished sun.

Who can utter

the praise of such generosity

or the shame?

# _Flying High_

So much is happening above the overcast!

Cloud poets, metaphysicians, essayists,

fabulists of the troposphere,

all at work, the material

their own metamorphic substance:

here a frank exposition, suds you could wash your clothes in,

there an abstract brocade that loops and swivels

in rivers of air. We glide low

across a forest, league on league

of trees in abundant leaf,

but white, silver-white, smudged with blue, tinged

with pink, like peonies—an entire summer

conjured in milky vapor, smoke of alabaster, slivers

of pearl. League on league

to a horizon more remote

than earth's horizons. Fading now,

curling, unfolding, imperceptibly flowing,

the blush paling. Dense thickets migrate

slowly across the fertile cloud-savannah, browsing.

And far aloft, in the sky's own sky, reclined,

the shepherd moon, propped on one elbow, watches

the flocks of drowsy cloud-lambs nibble their way out of being:

for darkness, even here, is gathering; the lunar gaze

dilates and begins to gleam,

while our enormous air-bus, throbbing west and south,

seems to tarry, fleck of metallic dust,

in this firmament where dreamy energies

sculpt themselves and winnow

epic epiphanies.

# _Mappemonde_

Nonchalant clouds below me

dangle shadows

into the curved river at Saskatoon.

Atlas of frontiers long-redrawn,

gazeteer of obsolete cities—

a jet-vapor garland

stretches and stretches to link

your incantations,

and breaks.

Still audible, stiffly revolving,

the globe of the world

creaks out enticements.

Decades pile up like thunderheads.

O Geography!

On your thick syrups

I float and float,

I glide through your brew

of bitter herbs.

Múmbulla Mountain,

low and round,

hums in green and hums

in tune, down in the Dreamtime.

World, you grow vaster. Our

time cannot

encompass you.

# _The Reminder_

Composed by nature, time, human art,

an earthly paradise. A haze that is not smog

gentles the light. Mountains delicately frosted,

timbered autumnal hillsides copper and bronze.

Black-green of pine, gray-green of olive.

Nothing is missing. Ferries' long wakes pattern the water,

send to still shores a minor music of waves.

Dark perpendiculars

of cypress, grouped or single, cross immemorial

horizontals of terraced slopes, the outstretched wings,

creamy yellow, of villas more elegant

in slight disrepair than anything spick and span

ever could be. And all perceived

not through our own crude gaze alone but by the accretion

of others' vision—language, paint, memory transmitted.

Here, just now, the malady

we know the earth endures seems in remission—

or _we_ are, from that knowledge that gnaws at us.

But only seems. Down by the lake the sign:

"Swim at your own risk. The lake is polluted."

_Not badly_ , someone says, blithely irrelevant.

We can avoid looking that way,

if we choose. That's at our own risk.

Deep underneath remission's fragile peace,

the misshaped cells remain.

_Lago di Como, 1989_

# _In the Woods_

Everything is threatened, but meanwhile

everything presents itself:

the trees, that day and night

steadily stand there, amassing

lifetimes and moss, the bushes

eager with buds sharp as green

pencil-points. Bark of cedar,

brown braids, bark of fir, deep-creviced,

winter sunlight favoring

here a sapling, there an ancient snag,

ferns, lichen. And the lake

always ready to change its skin

to match the sky's least inflection.

Everything answers the rollcall,

and even, as is the custom,

speaks for those that are gone.

—Clearly, beyond sound:

that revolutionary _'Presente!'_

# _Indian Summer_

Zones of flickering

water-diamonds

converse with almost-still

glint of leaves along the poplar-row.

A dispersed array of water-birds relaxes

afloat in autumn light,

one or another sometimes

diving casually.

And far across

near the other shore,

the lake is wearing a narrow, trembling

band of silver,

a silver barely tinged with gold,

delicate tarnish.

Someone's tapedeck booms and yells

crescendo...

pulses by and zooms

out of the park.

And quiet resumes,

holding off as best it can

peripheral sounds of human action—

planes, subliminal traffic,

(only one motorboat yet,

it's a workday morning)—

but admits

the long and distant old-time wail of a train:

this quiet, this autumn sun,

cool air and pale

diaphanous light,

are generous.

# _Creature to Creature_

Almost too late to walk in the woods, but I did,

anyway. And stepping aside for a moment

from the shadowy path to enter

darker shadow, a favorite circle of fir trees,

received a gift from the dusk:

a small owl, not affrighted, merely

moving deliberately

to a branch a few feet

Further from me, looked

full at me—a long regard,

steady, acknowledging, unbiased.

# _A Reward_

Tired and hungry, late in the day, impelled

to leave the house and search for what

might lift me back to what I had fallen away from,

I stood by the shore waiting.

I had walked in the silent woods:

the trees withdrew into their secrets.

Dusk was smoothing breadths of silk

over the lake, watery amethyst fading to gray.

Ducks were clustered in sleeping companies

afloat on their element as I was not

on mine. I turned homeward, unsatisfied.

But after a few steps, I paused, impelled again

to linger, to look North before nightfall—the expanse

of calm, of calming water, last wafts

of rose in the few high clouds.

And was rewarded:

the heron, unseen for weeks, came flying

widewinged toward me, settled

just offshore on his post,

took up his vigil.

If you ask

why this cleared a fog from my spirit,

I have no answer.

# _The Almost-Island_

The woods which give me their silence,

their ancient Douglas firs and red cedars, their ferns,

are not the wilderness. They're contained

in the two-mile circumference of an almost-island,

a park in city limits. Pleasure-boats crowd at weekends

into the small bay. The veils hiding the mountain

are not always natural cloud. Eagle and heron

speak of solitude, but when you emerge from forest shade

the downtown skyline rears up, phantasmagoric but near,

across the water. Yet the woods, the lake,

the great-winged birds, the vast mountain at the horizon,

are Nature: metonymy of the spirit's understanding

knows them to be a concentrate

of all Thoreau or Wordsworth knew by that word,

Nature: 'a never-failing principle

of joy and purest passion.' Thoreau's own pond

was bounded by the railroad, punctuated

by the 'telegraph trees' and their Aeolian wires.

All of my dread and all of my longing hope that Earth

may outwit the huge stupidity of its humans,

can find their signs and portents here, their recapitulations

of joy and awe. This fine, incised two inches

of goldsmith-work just drifted down, can speak

as well for _tree_ as a thousand forest acres,

and tree means depth of roots, uprisen height, outreaching

branches.

This musical speech of wavelets jounced against reeds

as a boat's wake tardily reaches the shore,

is _voice of the water_ , voice of all the blue

encircling the terrestrial globe

which as a child I loved to spin

slowly upon its creaking axis—blue globe

we have seen now, round, small as an apple,

afloat in the wilderness we name

so casually, as if we knew it

or ever could know it, 'Space.'

# _What One Received from Living
Close to a Lake_

That it is wide,

and still-yet subtly

stirring; wide and

level, reflecting the intangible sky's

vaster breadth in its own

fresh, cold, serene

surface we can

touch; enter, taste.

That it is wide

and uninterrupted save by

here a sail, there

a constellation of waterfowl—

a meadow of water

you could say,

a clearing amid the entangled

forest of forms and voices,

anxious intentions, urgent

memories: a deep, clear

breath to fill

the soul, an internal

gesture, arms

flung wide to echo

that mute

generous outstretching

we call _lake_.

# _Salvation_

They are going to

_daylight_ a river here—

that's what they call it, noun to verb.

A stream turned out

years ago from its channel

to run in cement tunnels, dank and airless

till it joined a sewer,

will be released— to sun, rain, pebbles, mud,

yellow iris, the sky above it

and trees leaning over to be reflected!

At night, stars or at least streetlamps

will gleam in it,

fish and waterbugs swim again in its ripples;

and though its course,

more or less the old one it followed before its

years of humiliation,

will pass near shops and the parking lot's

glittering metallic desert, yet

this unhoped-for pardon will once more permit

the stream to offer itself at last

to the lake, the lake will accept it, take it

into itself,

the stream restored will become pure lake.

# _Living_

The fire in leaf and grass

so green it seems

each summer the last summer.

The wind blowing, the leaves

shivering in the sun,

each day the last day.

A red salamander

so cold and so

easy to catch, dreamily

moves his delicate feet

and long tail. I hold

my hand open for him to go,

Each minute the last minute.

# _Setting_

I was welcomed here—clear gold

of late summer, of opening autumn,

the dawn eagle sunning himself on the highest tree,

the mountain revealing itself unclouded, its snow

tinted apricot as it looked west,

tolerant, in its steadfastness, of the restless sun

forever rising and setting.

Now I am given

a taste of the grey foretold by all and sundry,

a grey both heavy and chill. I've boasted I would not care,

I'm London-born. And I won't. I'll dig in,

into my days, having come here to live, not to visit.

Grey is the price

of neighboring with eagles, of knowing

a mountain's vast presence, seen or unseen.

# _Elusive_

The mountain comes and goes

on the horizon,

a rhythm elusive as that of a sea-wave

higher than all the rest, riding to shore

flying its silver banners—

you count to seven, but no,

its measure

slips by you with each recurrence.

# _Morning Mist_

The mountain absent,

a remote folk-memory.

The peninsula

vanished, hill, trees—

gone, shoreline

a rumour.

And we equate

God with these absences—

Deus absconditus.

But God

is imaged

as well or better

in the white stillness

resting everywhere,

giving to all things

an hour of Sabbath,

no leaf stirring,

the hidden places

tranquil in solitude.

# _Effacement_

Today the mountain

is cloud,

pale cone of shadow

veiled by a paler scrim—

majestic presence become

one cloud among others,

humble vapor,

barely discernible,

like the archangel walking

with Tobias on dusty roads.

# _Presence_

Though the mountain's the same warm-tinted ivory

as the clouds (as if a red ground had been laid beneath

not quite translucent white) and though the clouds

disguise its shoulders, and rise tall to left and right,

and soften the pale summit with mist,

yet one perceives

the massive presence, obdurate, unconcerned

among those filmy guardians.

# _The 6.30 Bus Late May_

The mountain

a moonflower in late

blue afternoon.

The bus

grinds and growls.

At each stop

someone gets off,

the workday over,

heads for home.

Trees in their first

abundance of green

hold their breath,

the sky is

so quiet, cloudless.

The mountain

mutely

by arcane power

summons the moon.

# _Midsummer Eve_

All day the mountain boldly

displayed its white splendor,

disavowing all ambiguity,

but now, the long June day

just closing, the pale sky

still blue, the risen moon

well aloft, the mountain

retreats from so much pomp,

such flagrant and superficial pride,

and drifts above the horizon,

ghostly, irresolute, more akin

to a frail white moth

than to the massive tension

of rock, its own bones, beneath

its flesh of snow.

# _The Mountain Availed_

Animal mountain,

some of your snows are melting,

dark streaks reveal

your clefts, your secret creases.

The light quivers,

is it blue, is it gold?

I feel your breath

over the distance,

you are panting, the sun

gives you no respite.

# _Pentimento_

To be discerned

only by those

alert to likelihood—

the mountain's form

beneath the milky radiance

which revokes it.

It lingers—

a draft

the artist may return to.

# _Mirage_

Ethereal mountain,

snowwhite foam hovering

far above blue, cloudy ridges—

can one believe you are not a mirage?

# _Looking Through_

White as cloud above

a less-white band of cloud

the mountain

stands clear on a sky of

palest blue,

no other clouds in all

the sunny arch

of summer's last holiday.

And the mountain's

deep clefts and hollows,

the shadowy crevasses,

are that same

palest blue, as if

snow and rock,

the whole great mass of mountain,

were transparent

and one could look

through at more sky

southward.

Luminous mountain,

real, unreal sky.

# _Whisper_

Today the white mist that is weather

is mixed with the sallow tint

of the mist that is smog.

And from it, through it, breathes

a vast whisper:

the mountain.

# _Open Secret_

Perhaps one day I shall let myself

approach the mountain—

hear the streams which must flow down it,

lie in a flowering meadow, even

touch my hand to the snow.

Perhaps not. I have no longing to do so.

I have visited other mountain heights.

This one is not, I think, to be known

by close scrutiny, by touch of foot or hand

or entire outstretched body; not by any

familiarity of behavior, any acquaintance

with its geology or the scarring roads

humans have carved in its flanks.

This mountain's power

lies in the open secret of its remote

apparition, silvery low-relief

coming and going moonlike at the horizon,

always loftier, lonelier, than I ever remember.

# _Witness_

Sometimes the mountain

is hidden from me in veils

of cloud, sometimes

I am hidden from the mountain

in veils of inattention, apathy, fatigue,

when I forget or refuse to go

down to the shore or a few yards

up the road, on a clear day,

to reconfirm

that witnessing presence.

# _Against Intrusion_

When my friend drove up the mountain

it changed itself into a big

lump of land with lots of snow on it

and slopes of arid scree.

Another friend climbed it the hard way:

exciting to stay the course, get to the top—

but no sense of height there, nothing to see but

generic mist and snow.

As for me,

when my photos come back developed,

there's just the lake, the south shore of the lake,

the middle distance. No mountain.

How clearly it speaks! _Respect, perspective_ ,

_privacy, it teaches. Indulgence_

_of curiosity increases_

_ignorance of the essential_.

What does it serve to insist

on knowing more than that a mountain,

forbearing—so far—from volcanic rage,

blesses the city it is poised above, angelic guardian

at rest on sustaining air; and that its vanishings

are needful, as silence is to music?

# _Forest Altar, September_

The gleam of thy drenched

floors of leaf-layers! Fragrance

of death and change!

If there is only

now to live, I'll live

the hour till doomstroke

crouched with the russet toad,

my huge human size

no more account than a bough fallen:

not upward,

searching for branch-hidden sky:

I'll look

down into paradise.

Thy moss gardens, the deep

constellations of green, the striate

rock furred with emerald,

inscribed with gold lichen,

with scarlet!

Thy smooth

acorns in roughsurfaced

precise cups!

Thy black

horns of plenty!

# _A South Wind_

Short grass, electric green, the ground

soggy from winter rain, Chaucerian

eyes of day, minute petals rose-tinted,

nourished by droppings of ducks and geese.

Hold fast what seem ephemera—

plain details that rise clear

beyond the fog of half-thoughts,

that rustling static, empty of metaphor.

Nothing much, or everything; all depends

on how you regard it.

Oh _if_ you regard it.

Note the chalk—

yellow of hazel catkins, how in the wet

mild wind they swing toward spring.

# _Sojourns in the Parallel World_

We live our lives of human passions,

cruelties, dreams, concepts,

crimes and the exercise of virtue

in and beside a world devoid

of our preoccupations, free

from apprehension—though affected,

certainly, by our actions. A world

parallel to our own though overlapping.

We call it 'Nature'; only reluctantly

admitting ourselves to be 'Nature' too.

Whenever we lose track of our own obsessions,

our self-concerns, because we drift for a minute,

an hour even, of pure (almost pure)

response to that insouciant life:

cloud, bird, fox, the flow of light, the dancing

pilgrimage of water, vast stillness

of spellbound ephemerae on a lit windowpane,

animal voices, mineral hum, wind

conversing with rain, ocean with rock, stuttering

of fire to coal—then something tethered

in us, hobbled like a donkey on its patch

of gnawed grass and thistles, breaks free.

No one discovers

just where we've been, when we're caught up again

into our own sphere (where we must

return, indeed, to evolve our destinies)

—but we have changed, a little.

# _Notes_

"Those Who Want Out," page 9: "... that the earth is an inert lump of matter, that our relationship to it is merely utilitarian, even that we might find a paradise outside it in space colonies. Such monstrous aberrations of thought are symptoms of the enchantment which blinds us to reality." — John Michell, _The Earth Spirit: Its Ways, Shrines & Mysteries_ (Avon Books, New York 1975)

"It Should Be Visible," page 25: The allusion is to Schweitzer's phrase: "I am life that wants to live, among other lives that want to live."

# _Books by Denise Levertov_

POETRY

The Double Image

Here and Now

Overland to the Islands

With Eyes at the Back of Our Heads

The Jacob's Ladder

O Taste and See

The Sorrow Dance

Relearning the Alphabet

To Stay Alive

Footprints

The Freeing of the Dust

Life in the Forest

Collected Earlier Poems 1940-1960

Candles in Babylon

Poems 1960-1967

Oblique Prayers

Poems 1968-1972

Breathing the Water

A Door in the Hive

Evening Train

Sands of the Well

The Life Around Us

The Stream and the Sapphire

PROSE

New & Selected Essays

Tesserae: Memories & Suppositions

TRANSLATIONS

Guillevic/Selected Poems

Joubert/Black Iris (Copper Canyon Press)
Copyright © 1958, 1959, 1960, 1961, 1962, 1970, 1971, 1972
by Denise Levertov Goodman

Copyright © 1963, 1964, 1965, 1966, 1970, 1971, 1972, 1973, 1974, 1975,
1976, 1977, 1978, 1979, 1980, 1981, 1982, 1983, 1984, 1985, 1986, 1987,
1988, 1989, 1990, 1991, 1992, 1994, 1995. 1996, 1997 by Denise Levertov

All rights reserved. Except for brief passages quoted in a newspaper, magazine,
radio, television, or website review, no part of this book may be reproduced in
any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying
and recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without
permission in writing from the Publisher.

_The Life Around Us_ incorporates poems from eleven previous Denise
Levertov books with New Directions: _The Sands of the Well_ (1996), _Evening_
 _Train_ (1992), _A Door in the Hive_ (1989), _Breathing the Water_ (1987), _Oblique_
 _Prayers_ (1984), _Candles in Babylon_ (1982), _Life in the Forest_ (1978), _The_
 _Freeing of the Dust_ (1975), _Footprints_ (1972), _The Sorrow Dance_ (1966), and
 _The Jacob's Ladder_ (1961).

Designed by Sylvia Frezzolini Severance

First published clothbound and as New Directions Paperbook 843 in 1997

Library of Congress Cataloging in Publication Data

Levertov, Denise, 1923-

The life around us : selected poems on ecological themes / Denise Levertov

p. cm.

ISBN 978-0-8112-1352-3

ISBN 978-0-8112-2443-7 (e-book)

1. Ecology —Poetry. I. Title

PS3562.E8876LA8 1997

81 I'.54-dc21

96-52901
CIP

New Directions Books are published for James Laughlin

by New Directions Publishing Corporation

80 Eighth Avenue, New York 10011

redpajama_set_name: RedPajamaBook


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redpajama_set_name: RedPajamaStackExchange


Home » PPE Training » Safety Meeting Topic | How to Utilize This Habit-Forming Substance?
Safety Meeting Topic | How to Utilize This Habit-Forming Substance?
The mind likes to stay busy and it doesn't always concentrate on the task at hand. This is a good reason to develop the habit of safety, to keep us safe when we are not totally engaged in the moment.
Habits take a while to form. Some say as few as 14 repetitions will do the trick, others say longer. And here's the rub: if you skip a day, it's kind of like rebooting – you feel like you have to start again.
Start small. For example, if you want to form the habit of doing a 360 before entering your vehicle, start doing it when you leave the house in the morning.
Be mindful of negative thoughts. Your mind is a survival tool. It hates change, change invites disaster. It knows that you have been surviving all your life without doing that 360. Therefore, it is up to you to use the conscious mind to push those negative thoughts out of the way.
Savor the habit. Enjoy the extra few steps around the vehicle before you get in. Forget about the long-range goal, just enjoy the process of walking around and pride of ownership of the vehicle.
Have a plan for when you falter. Re-start the habit when you miss doing the 360. Keep from faltering by doing a 360 when you use your car on weekends. Have an accountability partner.
Remember that a good life is a collection of good habits. When you form the habit of forming habits of safety, you have given yourself a tool that you can use to form positive habits in your personal life.
Speaking of habits, here's a good one: have regular safety meetings at your office.
← What are 10 Ways to Engage About PPE Training?


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text:
Think your meeting's important? 25 years ago, this one spawned Wi-Fi
The IEEE 802.11 Working Group started standardizing wireless LANs in 1990
By Stephen Lawson
Senior U.S. Correspondent, IDG News Service | PT
If you're reading this story over Wi-Fi, thank a department store designer.
It was retail remodeling that spurred NCR, a venerable cash-register company, to find out how it could use newly opened frequencies to link registers and mainframes without wires. Its customers wanted to stop drilling new holes in their marble floors for cabling every time they changed a store layout.
In 1985, the U.S. Federal Communications Commission voted to leave large blocks of spectrum unlicensed and let vendors build any kind of network they wanted as long as they didn't keep anyone else from using the frequencies. NCR jumped at the chance to develop a wireless LAN, something that didn't exist at the time, according to Vic Hayes, a former engineer at the company who's been called the Father of Wi-Fi.
[ Further reading: Best NAS boxes for media streaming and backup ]
Most important, for anyone today who wants to buy an inexpensive Wi-Fi router and connect almost any portable device to it, NCR decided from the beginning that its WLAN technology should become an industry standard. The group that would develop that standard, called IEEE 802.11, first met 25 years ago Thursday.
As it reaches that milestone, 802.11 is branching out into new areas like long-range, low-power networks, better performance in crowded places and more precise location sensing.
"We were tired of being a follower"
NCR was drawn to open standards by years of frustration with IBM's control of computing through its mainframes, Hayes said. Like other vendors at the time, NCR constantly had to adapt its products to work with whatever IBM built. "We were tired of being a follower," he said.
Out of that initial impulse grew one of the most successful examples of open standards in action. Wi-Fi, which got its name from the industry group that certifies 802.11 products for interoperability, has gone into more than 10 billion devices and is used in home and business networks and public hotspots around the world. Even many mobile operators with their own licensed frequencies rely on Wi-Fi to better serve subscribers.
NCR first tried to get the WLAN standardized as a wireless form of Token Bus, a local data network designed for manufacturing automation. Piggybacking on that group would be easier than getting approval for a whole new standard, Hayes said. But after a couple of years, it turned out that Token Bus couldn't be adapted to wireless. That's when the 802.11 Wireless LAN Working Group was born.
The new standard took almost seven years to complete.
"In the beginning ... there was no research done on the characteristics of radio used indoors," Hayes said. Factors like signal reflections off walls and ceilings were new phenomena that hadn't existed for outdoor radios.
First, a common vocabulary
Meanwhile, the engineers in the group didn't even use the same words for various aspects of the technology, so they first had to agree on a common vocabulary. Then they needed to find out users' requirements for a wireless LAN.
There were two competing modulation schemes proposed, and at first both were included in the standard, with the result that two products might be called 802.11 but not be able to talk to each other. Eventually one of these, called spread spectrum, became the one all players adopted.
The first standard, called simply 802.11, became official in June 1997. But it didn't become a mass-market hit, partly because it only delivered 1-2Mbps (bits per second). The big technical breakthrough came two years later with 802.11b, an amendment to the standard that brought the speed up to 11Mbps. That put its performance in the same class as many wired LANs of the time, which used 10Mbps Ethernet to desktops.
But what really sparked the WLAN phenomenon was Apple's decision to include 802.11b in its MacBooks, Hayes said. That left just one hurdle to clear: Taking components that still sold for $500 each and making them cost just $100, per Apple's demand.
Hayes, whose job had been merged into Lucent Technologies by that time, said only Lucent was willing to make the effort to drag down the cost. Executives there understood that $100 WLAN radios would expand the market from businesses into homes, a much bigger opportunity. Lucent started adapting its products to high-volume manufacturing.
Once 802.11b caught on, the amendments just kept coming. Some increased throughput, while others tightened security or made networks easier to set up. Soon WLANs started using unlicensed spectrum in the 5GHz range in addition to the original, more crowded 2.4GHz band. The Wi-Fi Alliance was formed in 1999 and started promoting the various flavors of 802.11 under catchier names.
The current standard, 802.11ac, has a theoretical speed of about 7Gbps with the maximum number of antennas and other options. But the working group has other advances brewing now.
- 802.11ah will bring the standard to frequencies below 1GHz, offering lower throughput but a range up to 1 kilometer. It's one of several types of low-power, wide-area networks that will compete to connect battery-dependent Internet of Things components like sensors.
- 802.11ay will be the next generation of WLANs for the unlicensed 60GHz band. Those high frequencies deliver data fast over a short range. Top speed should reach 20Gbps.
- 802.11ax is designed to address degraded performance in crowded settings like stadiums and universities. The goal is to make each user's network connection four times faster than it is now in those locations.
- 802.11az, which is just starting to be developed, will let WLANs pinpoint a user's location more precisely and reliably.
The way standard WLANs have evolved and proliferated since 1990 doesn't shock Hayes, who retired in 2003. This was what the developers had in mind, he said.
"We dreamed of it, of course. But we knew there was a long way to go."
Stephen Lawson is a senior U.S. correspondent for the IDG News Service based in San Francisco.

redpajama_set_name: RedPajamaCommonCrawl


Every manufacturing or mechanical service firm requires punches for their operations. Due to advancement in technology, there are automated punches available in the market but the conventional hand tool is still an essential kit in the workshop. There are several punches manufacturers in India that you will find on the internet. A manufacturer is a person or an entity that produces the goods which are consumed in the market. Now, many manufacturers tend to take help from a distribution partner to facilitate goods to the market whereas some manufacturers offer direct purchase. There is a little bit different in the pricing when we compare the price by manufacturers and suppliers. However, there are many things to consider before making any decision.
Consumers often confuse the sellers of the punches as the manufacturers but it is not the case always. A manufacturer has a hub where the goods are produced and based on the location of the hub, the marketing is carried out. It is not economically viable for the manufacturer to create a warehouse in every state of India. So, the most common option is to lease an existing warehouse to store their products and sell them.
There can be two types of manufacturers based on the operation they consider for manufacturing. A generic manufacturer of punches indicates that they produce different types of punches such as die punches, number punches, etc and forward the products to market via a channel. However, a specialized manufacturer only produces a specific punch. Now, both of them have their own advantages and disadvantages. A generic production helps to achieve economies of scale and thus, a reduction in price as well as increased product lines. On the other hand, a specialized punch manufacturer knows the intricacies of application of the punches and thus, the products will be more durable, application-oriented, and dimensionally accurate. Based on your requirements, you will need to select which punch you should purchase.
Since the supply chain is huge, most of the manufacturers seek help from suppliers. Suppliers are the facilitator of goods. So, every market has a specific supplier of a manufacturer.
Like manufacturers, suppliers are also of two kinds. Generic suppliers are those who store punches of different brands and sell to their designated markets. However, a specialized supplier deals with only one brand and tries to increase the supply for making the brand known and consumed. There are many punches suppliers India who have good market coverage and can get you the tools in quick reach. Since the digital revolution, many manufacturers and suppliers have switched to building websites where you can place the order while some sell through the alternative channel of e-commerce. So, you can either buy directly from the suppliers or you can tap into the e-commerce websites to check out punches.


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Letters to the Editor: July 28, 2019
Readers share their views on herbicides, immigration, Vero Beach's centennial celebration, Trump's tariffs, and 'white' America.
Letters to the Editor: July 28, 2019 Readers share their views on herbicides, immigration, Vero Beach's centennial celebration, Trump's tariffs, and 'white' America. Check out this story on tcpalm.com: https://www.tcpalm.com/story/opinion/readers/2019/07/28/letter-letters-editor-july-28-2019/1803361001/
Treasure Coast Newspapers Published 4:00 a.m. ET July 28, 2019
Herbicides used in many parks where people walk
There's all this talk about the Florida Fish and Wildlife Conservation Commission using the herbicide Roundup. What about Florida parks? They buy that stuff by the 30-gallon drum and use it all over the parks, where you and I walk and recreate.
Robert Bemenderfer, Fort Pierce
People have constitutional rights, whatever their immigration status
A July 20 letter, "Should members of Congress be giving advice on avoiding deportation?" was short and sour.
It said: "Shouldn't we all be concerned when elected members of Congress, including the Speaker of the House, instruct illegal immigrants on how to avoid deportation? Weren't they elected to support our laws?"
Nancy Pelosi, per "National Review": "An ICE deportation warrant is not the same as a search warrant. If that is the only document ICE brings to a home raid, agents do not have the legal right to enter a home. If ICE agents don't have a warrant signed by a judge, a person may refuse to open the door and let them in."
She added. "Every person in America has rights."
Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez : "No matter who you are or what your status is, this is the United States of America — where all people have rights. Know yours."
Justice Antonin Scalia (Reno v. Flores): "it is well established that the Fifth Amendment entitles aliens to due process of law in deportation proceedings."
Donald Trump: "When somebody comes in, we must immediately, with no judges or court cases, bring them back from where they came."
It's abundantly clear, whatever one's stance on immigration law, or any of our laws, who is … and who isn't … in support of America's statutes and Constitution. But I suspect most already knew.
Harvey Glatt, Port St. Lucie
Vero Beach Veterans to celebrate centennial
On behalf of all of the members of Vero Beach Veterans Inc., an organization that has been a integral part of our city and community for so many years, we are all looking forward to joining our "City By The Sea" in celebrating Vero Beach's One Hundredth Centennial Anniversary.
Therefore, we are inviting everyone to join us at 3 p.m. Aug. 4, at Vero Beach Veterans Inc., 2500 15th Ave., to be part of this celebration. We will be planting a tree in honor of the centennial, and in commemoration, beneath it, we shall bury a "time capsule" scheduled to be unearthed 25 years from this date.
The Vero Beach Centennial Art and Poster Competition poster is comprised of illustrations that include of Vero Beach landmarks. (Photo: ABC Printing)
We hope to include several mementos, such as newspaper articles, personal memories, photos and assorted proclamations from various clubs, businesses, and local organizations. So, if you may have something you may want to contribute, please let us know.
Upon completion of this ceremonious event, we will be celebrating by providing entertainment from some of Vero Beach's, and the Treasure Coast's finest musicians, along with a dinner to be served at 4 p.m.
If you may have any suggestions, or questions concerning this event, please contact our planning director, Wanda Johnson. She may be reached at 772-321-0365.
We look forward to seeing you all there, and thank you in advance for your support of our local veterans, who through their endeavors strive to promote our military service veterans, their families, our city and various local organizations.
This is a family-oriented event, for all ages, and shall be a non-smoking event.
Edward J. Stiffen, of Vero Beach, is the sergeant at arms for Vero Beach Veterans.
Facts puncture Trump's promise to bring back manufacturing jobs
It's very sad to read of pro-Trumpers' desperate attempts to gin up some accomplishments of this bizarre president. Here are some facts that puncture Trump's major promise ("MAGA"):
"The tariffs that Donald Trump slapped on Chinese imports haven't sparked widespread return of manufacturing to the U.S. that Trump envisioned."
"Manufacturing added 28,000 jobs the first half of the year, the fewest since Trump took office promising a manufacturing renaissance."
"So why aren't US manufacturers bringing jobs back to the U.S. in droves?" (Because) "there are no viable alternative manufacturers located in the United States" — James Osgood, CEO of a stainless steel products company.
"Various companies testified there is an entire supply chain in China to support their production, but no equivalent network in the U.S."
"It's logical to move to SE Asia or India and still serve the (China) market. That's why there aren't a lot of companies planning on moving operations back to the U.S."
Cartoon: Tariffs (Photo: ADAM ZYGLIS, THE BUFFALO NEWS, NY)
(All quotes from USA Today July 15, reporting on CEOs' testimonies to Congress.)
So much for the fantasy that Trump's tariffs have or will move manufacturing back here. Maybe the hats should say, "Make Asia Great Again."
It's sad to see hard-working Americans who voted for Trump, hoping he'd bring back good-paying jobs in manufacturing, being conned and betrayed by this poor excuse of a man. If/when the full story of Russia hacking our election is ever told, Trump is possibly an illegitimate president.
His signature accomplishment is giving billions in tax breaks to billionaires and giant corporations, adding $1 trillion to the national debt. Some conservative! Some American!
This "Reagan Democrat" says Trump is the worst president ever. The majority of Americans can't wait for 2020 to "Dump Trump" and Sen. Mitch McConnell, too!
Robert A. Gibbons, Stuart
There never was a 'white' America
Historical reality: America was never Caucasian or white as some refer to it.
Joan Fox, Vero Beach
Read or Share this story: https://www.tcpalm.com/story/opinion/readers/2019/07/28/letter-letters-editor-july-28-2019/1803361001/


lay siege to the monastery.
gathered in front of the hospital to demand him into their custody.
monastery is now under the occupation of armed security forces.
school after they were outnumbered by police and security forces.
nearby areas of Rebgong district.


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HOME : Islamic Art : AS Collection 4 : Engraved Seljuk Copper Alloy Ewer
Engraved Seljuk Copper Alloy Ewer - LO.879
Origin: Central Asia
Circa: 11 th Century AD to 12 th Century AD
Dimensions: 9.5" (24.1cm) high
Collection: Islamic Art
Medium: Quarternary Bronze
Additional Information: AS
Location: Great Britain
Place On Hold
Pear-shaped ewer standing on a rather high sloping foot. A simple raised collar at the base of the neck. The simple undulated strap handle with a bold palmette finial topped with a knob. The exterior of the body engraved with a horizontal register of calligraphic script under the collar, arabesque motifs in niches and foliage stemming from tall globular vases on the belly and a further narrower band of cursive script on the foot.
The animated well spaced and perfectly suited decoration is in tune with the artistic production of the mid 12th century, when a huge variety of decorative themes and typologies were spurred, commissioned by the emerging strong bourgeoisie in northeastern Iran. Inscriptions occur on nearly every object and usually consist of anonymous wishes, though sometimes they might provide information about patrons, makers and dates of manufacture.
Metalwork in the Near East and Central Asia has always enjoyed a prestige beyond that of other applied arts such as ceramics and textiles. Major pieces were specially commissioned and often bear dedications to the princes and great nobles for whom they were made, together with the proudly inscribed names of their makers and decorators; their very durability and impressive appearance give them a high standing and dignity of their own. The best pieces were in bronze, either engraved, inlaid, overlaid or beaten in repousse', that is hammered out from behind of designs to appear in relief on the surface. The roots of Islamic metalwork are to be found in Byzantium and Persia. In the early 7th century the Arabs took over these two great empires and absorbed local metal techniques and typologies, and contributed to a new development in metalwork by adding inscriptions in kufic script. Not much is known of the art of metalwork in Persia and Central Asia in the early Islamic period, with the exception of few large dishes datable to the Ghaznavids, until the Seljuq period, when new forms started to appear, while lavish inlays and incrustation of gold, silver and copper crept onto the surface.
Ewers such as this, were probably made of high- tin bronze, an alloy of copper and about 20 per cent tin. This alloy was known in early Islamic times as asfidroy, literally 'white copper' and was used for bowls, stem bowls, dishes, ewers and candlesticks. Amongst the particular properties of high tin bronze is that it can be red-hot forged, like iron, and if quenched, becomes reasonably malleable when cold. If permitted to cool slowly than hammered, it shatters. Three centres of quarternary bronze manufacture are recorded in Islamic texts of the 10th-11th centuries: Rabinjian near Bukhara, Hamadan in western Persia and Sistan province in eastern Persia. Transoxiana, i.e. Eastern Persia and Afghanistan, provided the inspiration for the Hamadan industry as well and kept on producing high-tin copper alloy vessel well into the 13th century, although with less originality than before. The quality of engraving of our ewer would seem to indicate a 12th-13th centuries dating and a Transoxiana provenance. For a comparable example see Ettinghausen et al, Islamic Art and Architecture, 2001: pl. 255, p.167. - (LO.879)


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The code behind my personal website.

About the branches:

- `blog` represents what's currrently deployed in production.
- The remaining ones are old versions (some of which never reached production).

redpajama_set_name: RedPajamaGithub


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Thursday, April 14 • 4:00pm - 5:38pm
Breaking Legs
"Footloose" Meets "Mean Girls." After the death of her mother, high school freshman Bloom moves in with her hapless uncle and feeble grandma (Lee Meriwether). With little support and encouragement at her disposal, she struggles to find her footing while adjusting to small town life. A dancer by nature, Bloom is determined to find an outlet for her despair, but there's nowhere to dance in this backwoods town - except the school dance team! Just as she's trying to fit in, the boyfriend of the team's captain falls for her, catapulting Bloom into the spotlight against her soon-to-be arch nemesis. Bloom will have to fight to win her place on the team, even if she has to "break a leg!"
DIRECTOR: Mark Marchillo
PRODUCER: Micah Brandt
WRITER: Mark Marchillo
CAST: Chris Kattan, Lee Meriwether, Liv Southard, Sarah Rochelle
Scheduled to attend: Stars Lizz Carter, Aaron R. Landon, William Leon, Maria Pallas, Sarah Rochelle, and Young Artist Award Winner for Best Actress, Liv Southard, along with Writer/Director Mark Marchillo and Producer Micah Brandt.
AMERICAN INDEPENDENTS"Footloose" Meets "Mean Girls." After the death of her mother, high school freshman Bloom moves in with her hapless uncle and feeble grandma (Lee Meriwether). With little support and encouragement at her disposal, she struggles to find her footing while adjusting... Read More →
Thursday April 14, 2016 4:00pm - 5:38pm
Muvico Parisian - Auditorium 17 545 Hibiscus St, West Palm Beach FL 33401


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Italy reports first decrease in the number of patients in intensive care due to coronavirus
MILAN, April 4 (Reuters) – Italy on Saturday reported its biggest slowdown in the daily death toll from COVID-19 in nearly two weeks, saying the number of patients in intensive care fell for the first time.
But authorities urged not to ignore the stringent containment measures, which they believe are beginning to show results, although the new cases increased by 4,805 on Saturday, a slightly larger rise than in previous days.
The Civil Protection department reported 681 deaths, bringing the total to 15,632 from the first cases registered in northern Italy in late February. It was the smallest daily increase in deaths since March 23.
The total number of confirmed cases increased to 124,632 from the 119,827 reported on Friday, but for the first time, the number of patients in intensive care units decreased, with 3,994 cases under treatment, 74 fewer than on Friday.
"This is important news because it allows our hospitals to breathe," Chief of Civil Protection Angelo Borelli said in a regular briefing in which he announced the world's deadliest daily count of the disease.
For days, Italian officials have said that the steady rise in the number of cases suggests that the curve is flattening and that the numbers will begin to improve if strict quarantine measures are followed.
"Some images released on social media, showing the relaxed behavior of some people, fortunately only a few, should not be taken as an example, they should be deplored," said Domenico Arcuri, the government's special commissioner for the coronavirus.
"We cannot assume that it is time to return to normal," he said.
(Additional report by Giulio Piovaccari. Edited in Spanish by Rodrigo Charme)
from Prince Charles to Plácido Domingo, celebrities who caught
In this country, violating quarantine is paid for with life


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1491: new revelations of the Americas before Columbus
Author(s): Mann, Charles C.
Page Count: xii, 465 p. : ill., maps
Tags: Antiquities, History, Indigenous Peoples, Origin
E 61 M266 2005
Introduction : Holmberg's mistake — 1. A view from above — 2. Why Billington survived — 3. In the land of four quarters — 4. Frequently asked questions — 5. Pleistocene wars — 6. Cotton (or anchovies) and maize (tales of two civilizations, part I) — 7. Writing, wheels, and bucket brigades (tales of two civilizations, part II) — 8. Made in America — 9. Amazonia — 10. The artificial wilderness — 11. The great law of peace — App. A. Loaded words — App. B. Talking knots — App. C. The syphilis exception — App. D. Calendar math.
Mann, Charles C.. 1491: new revelations of the Americas before Columbus. New York: Knopf; 2005.


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Season 1, Episode 11 • Drama, TV-PG, 23-Nov-2021
TV-PG. Time for proud and prudent Mr. Riley to hang the cringe-worthy Stewardship Campaign banner, proclaiming â"God Knows What You Can Afford." Chuck and the rest of the Compass Committee grapple with the full meaning of stewardship in hopes of convincing the financially-centered Mr. Riley to let go of the old idea that stewardship is merely an annual campaign.
Jeremy Childs Mr. Riley
Jackie Welch Mrs. Beasley
Julian Vaca Daniel Sanchez
Steve Horswill-Johnston producer
Up Next in The Committee - Season 1
Committees That Work
TV-PG. Chuck has one foot out the door, sending shock waves through the Compass Committee. Before Chuck has had enough, the table of six must ask themselves the toughest question of all. Are they really making a difference?
Embracing a Legacy
TV-PG. The round table realizes how older and younger adults must work together in order for the church to survive. Both contentious sides are exemplified in real time by progressive Daniel and traditional Mr. Riley. Easier said than done, to walk in someone else's shoes.
TV-PG. While Mr. Riley is accused of being Mr. Grumpy Pants, and Hannah admits to continually rattling his cage, Chuck reiterates, "If you aren't upsetting someone, you probably aren't doing anything significant." Amidst all the moving parts, the debate continues: how should older leaders make me...


Please let us know something about you/ your company.
It will make the contact much easier.
50% of your donation will go directly to World Vision's drought projects in Africa.
You will get your donation certificate (the tax relevant donation receipt) for the World Vision pledge in January/February 2018. And from my company erfolgswelle® Ltd you will get the invoice of your pledge.


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https://english.khabaronline.ir/xhTsS
Shrine Defender Assassinated in Tehran
Tasnim News Agency, close to the Islamic Revolutionary Guard Corps, reported the assassination and martyrdom of one of holy shrine defenders _ known in Persian as Modāfe'ān-e-Haramin - in an armed attack by two motorcyclists in Tehran.
In an interview with Tasnim news agency, an informed source reported the assassination of Sayyad Khodaei one of the holy shrine defenders on Mojahedin-e-Islam street in Tehran.
The source said: "This incident took place around 4 pm today in one of the side alleys of Mojahedin-e-Islam Street. The assailants are being pursued by security forces."
Meanwhile Mehr News Agency reported that two people on a motorbike shot and martyred an IRGC Quds Force member who was a military advisor in Syria in the Iranian capital on Sunday.
An IRGC Quds Force member by the name of "Sayyad Khodaei", who was a holy shrine defender in Syria, was shot with five bullets and martyred in front of his house in downtown Tehran.
The assailants were two motorcyclists who are still at large while the security forces are looking for them.
The assassination was carried out at Mojahedin-e-Islam Street, Khazal Alleyway, a source told local Iranian media.
According to the latest report, Martyr Khodaei was in his car in front of his house when his wife was the first to see him lying down in the car martyred in bloody clothes.
Shrine Defender


Thank you to all of the children and their families who have donated some 'Love' in a Box for children in Moldova. We have been overwhelmed by your generosity and have sent an amazing 65 shoe boxes this year! As part of our focus on 'Love' in Collective Worship this term, we have encouraged the children to think about the impact that their gifts will have on children from less fortunate backgrounds.


I have two teenage daughters and one is a difficult eater. She can't eat fish and hates the texture of some things like red meat, rice and soup. I have had enough of making two meals every night. Over the weekend I gave my daughters a job.
They emptied the pantry and wrote a list of what we had. Then they emptied the freezer and listed the contents while I did the defrosting and cleaning. The next day I gave them a challenge - how many recipes and meal ideas could they find online using those ingredients plus fresh stuff and maybe one or two small extras.
They took it all very seriously and spent ages finding new recipes. Now I have sixteen new recipes which we will all eat. Best of all it gave my daughters, especially the nuisance eater, a very good idea of just how hard and frustrating it is trying to feed a family on a budget, especially when catering for her. So this has given me a clean pantry and freezer and new recipes, and given them a bit of insight into the realities of life.


Bicycles, huh? When I was younger I found them to be mystical, two-wheeled things that remained upright seemingly by magic. Training wheels were my crutch until one day dad ripped them off and gave me a shove down the street.
Weeping, I wobbled forward, fear in my eyes and terror in my gut until...I realized I had remained upright and was not, fortunately, going to die a painful death at the hands of the asphalt racing by my frantically pedaling feet.
What kept me upright was believed, by scientists and physicists, to be the result of wheel rotation and what's called "gyroscopic effects." Pretty straightforward and, for the longest time, it was the accepted reason Why Things Were The Way They Are.
When they gave the thing a push, it remained upright until forward motion ceased, at which point it toppled to the earth much like I have done many times since receiving that fatherly push more than 20 years ago.
What the experiment showed is that the accepted reason for bicycle stability was only part of this newly refreshed puzzle.
"It's all about how bicycle leaning automatically causes steering, which can bring the wheels back under a falling bike," said Andy Ruina, professor of mechanics at Cornell and a co-author of the paper [...] "Almost any self-stable bicycle can be made unstable by misadjusting either the trail, the front-wheel gyro, or the front-assembly, center-of-mass position."


It is a must see movie! Once again the musicians of Kaosz Theory are apart of a great movie. The Kaosz Theory musicians are performing the music and supporting the composer Terrance Blanchard, Thank you for this great experiance!
KAOSZ THEORY RELEASES NEW SINGLE!
WE MADE IT IN COCO!


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Protecting monopolies
At a garment manufacturing unit near Kochi. Synthetic garments account for 20 per cent of garment exports. Photo: K.K. Mustafa
Producers of polyester fibre allege that the imposition of anti-dumping duties on PTA protects the monopoly in the industry.
INDIA's biggest conglomerate, Reliance Industries, is back in the thick of controversy. And, not surprisingly, it has to do with government policy. This time, it pertains to an area of business that goes back to the company's very beginnings in the 1980s as a manufacturer of a key chemical intermediate that is critical to the production of synthetic textiles, purified terephthalic acid (PTA).
Soon after the Narendra Modi government assumed office, on July 25, the Directorate General of Anti-Dumping and Allied Duties (DGAD), which functions under the Department of Commerce in the Union Ministry of Industry and Commerce, imposed anti-dumping duties on imports of PTA originating from China, South Korea, Thailand and the European Union. The investigation of the DGAD, covering the period from April 1, 2012, to March 31, 2013, was based on a complaint from Reliance Industries and Mitsubishi Chemical Corporation PTA India Corporation Private Limited (MCPI), a part of Mitsubishi Keiretsu, and commenced in October 2013 during the United Progressive Alliance regime. Based on its findings, the DGAD imposed anti-dumping duties ranging between $19 and $117 a tonne, depending on the quality of the PTA imported from these countries.
The DGAD's action obviously protects the two main producers, Reliance and MCPI, which account for almost 87 per cent of the installed capacity for producing PTA in India. The third producer, the public sector Indian Oil Corporation, is only a marginal player. Significantly, it found no reason to complain about dumping by overseas producers. Users of PTA, among them large companies like Bombay Dyeing, Indo Rama Synthetics and Garden Silks, have vehemently contested the DGAD's ruling, pointing to several anomalies. They said that the increase in the prices of PTA following the imposition of penal duties on imports from the targeted countries would affect not only them but also more than 20,000 smaller textile companies that employed thousands of workers. The PTA Users' Association, which represents the interests of many of these companies, has complained that the increase in the costs of manufacturing synthetic textiles is likely to make Indian companies uncompetitive in the global market.
Indo Rama Synthetics (India), a leading producer of polyester fibre and yarn, alleged that the anti-dumping duties had been imposed "in a hurry". It estimated that the additional duty on imports from China would amount to $62.82 a tonne, $117.09 in the case of inflows from South Korea, and $99.51 on imports from the other targeted countries. The company said the move would "highly impact the polyester fibre chain" in India.
The company's chairman and managing director, O.P. Lohia, said the additional duties would have "a huge impact on the margins of the polyester industry, which is already reeling under thin margins". He pointed out that the downstream units in the textile industry would also be impacted because they would not be protected by similar countervailing import duties on fabrics or garments.
The duopolistic nature of the Indian PTA industry, coupled with the fact that demand in India is always greater than locally available supplies, makes Indian fibre and yarn makers dependent on imports. Industry associations have pointed out that the annual shortfall of PTA supplies is about 0.6 million tonnes, about 15 per cent of the Indian requirement of PTA. They have argued that the single biggest beneficiary of the additional anti-dumping duties will be Reliance. More importantly, the duties would also encourage other overseas producers, even those not hit by the fresh levies, to increase prices by taking advantage of the shortfall in supplies in the Indian market.
The PTA Users' Association has argued that the DGAD's conclusions are based on "erroneous" grounds. Specifically, it observed that the findings had not established a causal relationship between imports of PTA and "injury" to domestic producers of PTA. Incidentally, in anti-dumping parlance, "injury" to domestic producers is said to occur when an importer sells a product in the Indian market at a price lower than the one prevailing in his own domestic market. The association has pointed out that during the period under review by the DGAD (2010-11 and 2011-12), all the three key variables—domestic production, domestic sales and overall domestic demand—increased by a similar magnitude of about 6 per cent. The movement of these three variables in tandem did not indicate the possibility of "injury" to domestic PTA producers, it argued.
Referring to the contention of Reliance and MCPI that unfairly priced imports had hit their profitability, the association pointed out that their lower profitability was on account of factors that were extraneous to the question of dumping. In the case of Reliance, lower profitability was on account of investments to expand its PTA production capacity; in the case of Mitsubishi, these were related to technical problems at its plant in Haldia in West Bengal. In fact, Indo Rama has argued that the very fact that Reliance is in the process of adding capacities to the tune of 2.4 million tonnes per annum proves that it is running an extremely profitable business, not one that is "injured" by unfair imports.
Those challenging the imposition of anti-dumping duties on imports point to other anomalies as well. They question the very classification of MCPI as an "Indian" company, pointing to the fact that anti-dumping duties can only apply to cases where an Indian company has been hit by unfair below-cost imports. Mitsubishi Chemical Corporation, one of the largest producers of PTA in the world, holds a controlling stake in MCPI. Four other Japanese entities hold a 29 per cent stake in MCPI; thus, Japanese entities enjoy overwhelming control, to the extent of 95 per cent in the Indian entity. Incidentally, Mitsubishi Chemical Corporation also holds a controlling interest in Sam Nam Petrochemicals, a South Korean PTA producer.
It is significant that both the complainants raised no objections about imports from Malaysia, also an important source of PTA. Perhaps the Reliance Group's acquisition of a Malaysian subsidiary of the British petroleum major BP (formerly British Petroleum) in 2012 for $230 million explains this. Indeed, the PTA Users' Association said that Reliance exported raw materials used in PTA production to its Malaysian subsidiary and imported finished PTA from that country. The association said that Reliance imported about 19,000 tonnes of PTA from its newly acquired Malaysian subsidiary between December 2012 and July 2013. The association surmises that this probably explains why the two complainants did not attack imports from Malaysia.
No evidence of 'injury'
Those opposing the levy of anti-dumping duties point to the fact that Indian PTA capacity increased by almost one-third during the DGAD's period of investigation, a giveaway that producers suffered no injuries from unfair imports.
In 2012-13, the two main producers, Reliance and MCPI, accounted for almost 85 per cent of the Indian PTA output. In fact, during the period covered by the investigation, Reliance operated its plant at more than 100 per cent capacity (see table).
In fact, according to the DGAD's own findings, Reliance operated its PTA plants at 102 per cent during 2012-13, compared to 99 per cent in 2010-11. During the period of investigations, MCPI's troubled facility operated at 70 per cent, compared to 57 per cent during 2011-12.
Industry sources estimate that the demand for PTA in India is growing at per cent. Although cotton apparel exports attract more media attention, the fact that synthetic textiles account for almost one-fourth of India's overall textile exports of $40 billion in 2013-14 has escaped notice.
While manufacturers of polyester yarn claim that capacity utilisation has dropped by six percentage points to 63 per cent between June and September 2014, polyester staple fibre units' capacity utilisation has dropped from 92 per cent to 85 per cent during the same period.
The alacrity with which the government machinery has moved against imports, which are the only countervailing force to the duopoly that dominates the PTA business in India, raises several disturbing questions. But it is fundamentally incongruous because it flies in the face of the logic of liberalisation in which "protection" is a dirty word, especially because it blatantly protects the powerful few against the weaker many.
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Faiz Ahmed FaizFaiz Ahmed Faiz: A poet of defiance, transcending ideology
West BengalCAA protests: Political see-saw in West Bengal
Protest at Shaheen BaghCAA protests: Making it count in Delhi
Assam and CAACAA protests: Winds of change in Assam
Industrial safety Deadly violation of safety norms in Delhi
The JudiciaryQuestions of justice: The judgments in Nirbhaya and Unnao rape cases
CommunalismNanavati Commission report exonerates Narendra Modi
Banking A Kerala model in banking sector
National Register of CitizensNationwide NRC: Roll of contention
Interview: Sudhir K. Sopory, former VC, JNUSudhir K. Sopory: 'Institutions like JNU should be nurtured'
Discussion on Zionism & HindutvaZionism and Hindutva: Communal cousins
LegislationAmendments to labour laws under the Modi government: No love for labour
Essay Vande Mataram: Text in Context
TelanganaRemembering Rohith Vemula
KashmirDogra raj in Kashmir
EssayThree phases of Indian renaissance
When MGR fell ill
West BengalBangla, Bengal and Bangal


Your driveway is an essential part of your home. It's where your car passes when you drive in and out of your garage. That said, maintaining it will also mean maintenance not just for your driveway, but maintaining the overall safety of your car as well, and even that of your entire home.
How Does Driveway Damage Happen?
Where does driveway damage come from? It can start forming in the cracks in the wooden slabs between the concrete. These cracks develop during extreme weather conditions of hot and cold. During exposure to such extreme weather conditions the concrete expands and causes damage both to the concrete and the slab. However, this isn't just a seasonal thing. It can also happen when you wash your car. Water moves through the cracks and erodes the soil underneath the concrete. The soil then settles and causes the concrete to crack.
So what exactly is the solution to maintaining a good driveway? The answer is using driveway caulking expansion joints. Driveway caulking expansion joints are expansion joints which replace the wooden slab between the concrete of your driveway and prevents cracking. It expands during extreme weather conditions, and doesn't crack under pressure so easily. This helps maintain your driveway's appearance and helps avoid any unwanted accidents from happening.
Clean out the crack first. You may first use a screwdriver to loosen the dirt and the remnants of the old caulking. Scrub the crack with a stiff wire brush to finish breaking apart loose material. Sweep it clean with a whisk broom to ensure that no material is left in the crack.
Once you're through, you may now install the new expansion joints by pouring it in between the cracks. This will be enough eventually to keep the concrete in place and prevent cracking in the future.


text:
//
// This file was generated by the JavaTM Architecture for XML Binding(JAXB) Reference Implementation, vJAXB 2.1.10 in JDK 6
// See http://java.sun.com/xml/jaxb
// Any modifications to this file will be lost upon recompilation of the source schema.
// Generated on: 2012.12.06 at 10:00:50 AM EST
//

package org.slc.sli.test.edfi.entities;
import javax.xml.bind.annotation.XmlRootElement;

import javax.xml.bind.annotation.XmlAccessType;
import javax.xml.bind.annotation.XmlAccessorType;
import javax.xml.bind.annotation.XmlElement;
import javax.xml.bind.annotation.XmlType;

/**
 * New SLC natural reference type for MeetingTime.
 *
 *
Java class for SLC-MeetingTimeReferenceType complex type.
 *
 *
The following schema fragment specifies the expected content contained within this class.
 *
 *

 * <complexType name="SLC-MeetingTimeReferenceType">
 *   <complexContent>
 *     <restriction base="{http://www.w3.org/2001/XMLSchema}anyType">
 *       <sequence>
 *         <element name="MeetingTimeIdentity" type="{http://ed-fi.org/0100}SLC-MeetingTimeIdentityType"/>
 *       </sequence>
 *     </restriction>
 *   </complexContent>
 * </complexType>
 *

 *
 *
 */
@XmlAccessorType(XmlAccessType.FIELD)
@XmlType(name = "SLC-MeetingTimeReferenceType", propOrder = {
    "meetingTimeIdentity"
})
@XmlRootElement(name = "MeetingTimeReferenceType")
public class SLCMeetingTimeReferenceType {

    @XmlElement(name = "MeetingTimeIdentity", required = true)
    protected SLCMeetingTimeIdentityType meetingTimeIdentity;

    /**
     * Gets the value of the meetingTimeIdentity property.
     *
     * @return
     *     possible object is
     *     {@link SLCMeetingTimeIdentityType }
     *
     */
    public SLCMeetingTimeIdentityType getMeetingTimeIdentity() {
        return meetingTimeIdentity;
    }

    /**
     * Sets the value of the meetingTimeIdentity property.
     *
     * @param value
     *     allowed object is
     *     {@link SLCMeetingTimeIdentityType }
     *
     */
    public void setMeetingTimeIdentity(SLCMeetingTimeIdentityType value) {
        this.meetingTimeIdentity = value;
    }

}


For long trips or vacations, make sure to take an extra battery along for the ride! Compatible with many popular models including the TG-860, TG-850, TG-830, TG-620, XZ-1 and many more!
DUE TO NEW FEDERAL REGULATIONS all orders containing stand-alone batteries (except if included w/camera) ship Ground only regardless of method chosen. To expedite other items, please order battery separately. Batteries cannot currently be shipped to AK, HI, VI, or PR.
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