KatMulkey

I think this scorpion is the Uroctonus mordax mordax. Does that mean "show me the money" in latin? or does it mean "Hey is this a Hawaii state quarter? That's the only one I don't have."
?

After he sat on my hand for awhile...

. . .he jumped on my shoulder and tried to eat the polkadots on my shirt. 

(Kat's note: I know that you're supposed to leave baby birds alone when you find them on the ground. But I didn't find this guy on the ground, he was in a cat's mouth. The cat was going to torture him and then NOT eat him.)

 

BEST BOY, I’m writing you a poem for your 13^th birthday. Will you ever  see this? Perhaps yes, perhaps no. But I still had to write it because of giant Xmas stockings that you could climb into, and happy times at our house building lego wonders (those fantastic, impressive engineering projects) and many other good things. I wrote this poem for the world’s smoothest sock-floor slider,  indoor-scooter rider, guitar player, remote-control-vehicle operator, imaginative artist, and fort-building, snowball-preserving, kite-flying (and DOUBLE-kite-flying) book-devouring BEST BOY.  I’m writing you a poem for your 13^th birthday.

PIRATE KITE

I want to fly a pirate kite with you, here, on my hill.

First we'll make the black kite skin and frame, then test different tails.

Of course you should draw the skull and bones--

you’re good at that, you’re good at everything.

(we miss you)

Our kite will soar and swoop menacingly and pirate-y.

Those kite birds—the raptors who think they are the power of this hill--

will get scared out of their talons when they see our kite

and they will hover at the Andersons' house, instead, as if they wanted to go there.

But it won’t be what they wanted.  We don’t always get what we want.

 (I miss you)

Let’s remember this:

Sometimes when the wind falls off a bit

and the string goes slack, you think the kite is gone

until the tug returns, and you are reassured.

Even when the string breaks

(it  just happens, it’s not anyone’s fault)

you may still find the kite again, eventually, if you love it enough.

This is not the end. I’m not saying goodbye, because I know that I will see you again.

BEST BOY, I wrote you this poem for your 13^th birthday.