“These sprays, dusts, and aerosols are now applied almost universally to farms, gardens, forests, and homes-nonselective chemicals that have the power to kill every insect, the 'good' and the 'bad,' to still the song of birds and the leaping of fish in the streams, to coat the leaves with a deadly film, and to linger on in soil-all this though the intended target may be only a few weeds or insects. Can anyone believe it is possible to lay down such a barrage of poisons on the surface of the earth without making it unfit for all life? They should not be called 'insecticides,' but 'biocides.'” ShouldBelieveMayStillsHomeEarthFilmSongBirdGardenLaysFishesSurfaceForestsDustStreamsPoisonSoilTargetWeedFarmsChemicalsCoatsInsectsSpraySilent SpringInsecticides Book:The house of life: Rachel Carson at work Source: The house of life: Rachel Carson at work
“When I was a young girl salmon fishing with my father in the Straits of Juan de Fuca in Washington State I used to lean out over the water and try to look past my own face, past the reflection of the boat, past the sun and darkness, down to where the fish were surely swimming. I made up charm songs and word-hopes to tempt the fish, to cause them to mean biting my hook. I believed they would do it if I asked them well and patiently and with the right hope. I am writing my poems like this. I have used the fabric and the people of my life as the bait.” PeopleIfsWritingTryingWellsLooksMeanMadeStatesPastFacesYoungUsedSongGirlFatherCausesWaterMy OwnDarknessSunSeaReflectionRiversFishesBoatCharmLakesFishingSwimmingFabricHookBaitBitingSalmonJuanWashington State Author:Tess Gallagher
“The old men of the village of Mahotière say that the Mistress of the Water is a mulatto woman. At midnight she comes out of the spring and sings while combing her dripping long hair, which makes a sound sweeter than a violin. It is a song of perdition for whomever hears it. There is no sign of the Cross, no "Our Father" to save him. Her curse takes him like a fish in a net and the Mistress of the Water awaits him on the edge of the spring and smiles upon him and tells him to follow her to the depths, from which he will never return.” MenLongSongFatherSoundWaterMusicHairReturnMusicianSpringCrossesDepthEdgesFishesCurseOld ManVillageMidnightMistressOur FatherViolinDrippingLong HairPerditionMulattoes Author:Jacques Roumain