Ken and I leave for Almaty, Kazakhstan in about two weeks so we are treasuring every minute we have on our farm sans the small airplanes that fly overhead. We live about two miles from a small airport so we get the crop sprayers and occasional helicopters that fly over our farmyard. The one in the photo I caught while biking along our gravel roads.
Our “fragile bark” will be crossing the Atlantic soon by jet and Ken already got our seat assignments. Much easier passage than what Thomas Curtis Clark expresses in the following poem from Streams in the Desert:
As moves my fragile bark across the storm-swept sea,
Great waves beat o’er her side, as north wind blows;
Deep in the darkness hid lie threat’ning rocks and shoals;
But all of these, and more, my Pilot knows.Sometimes when dark the night, and every light gone out,
I wonder to what port my frail ship goes;
Stil though the night be long, and restless all my hours,
My distant goal, I’m sure, my Pilot knows.
