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AI technology that monitors their flight patterns helps to ensure birds don't fly into turbines and get injure More at Reasons to be Cheerful ➜

Cumulous clouds,
floating up high.
Billowy, cotton pillows,
in the bluest sky.

What are these words,
which flow from my pen,
saying nothing by
day's end?

Work is hard,
difficult to do,
when my only thoughts
are about you.

Lost am I,
in life's morass.
Another day older,
when this day is past.

Where to run,
Where to hide?
I should be searching
far away, inside.

NASA Astronomy Picture of the Day:

The Tarantula Nebula, also known as 30 Doradus, is more than a thousand light-years in diameter, a giant star forming region within nearby satellite galaxy the Large Magellanic Cloud. About 160 thousand light-years away, it's the largest, most violent star forming region known in the whole Local Group of galaxies. The cosmic arachnid is near the center of this spectacular image taken during the flight of SuperBIT (Super Pressure Balloon Imaging Telescope), NASA's balloon-borne 0.5 meter telescope now floating near the edge of space. Within the well-studied Tarantula (NGC 2070), intense radiation, stellar winds and supernova shocks from the central young cluster of massive stars, cataloged as R136, energize the nebular glow and shape the spidery filaments. Around the Tarantula are other star forming regions with young star clusters, filaments, and blown-out bubble-shaped clouds. SuperBIT's wide field of view spans over 2 degrees or 4 full moons in the southern constellation Dorado.

My head overflows
with thoughts, about you,
yet, here I am,
away, alone now, too

My head is clogged,
with too many words.
Nouns, verbs, adjectives,
and a bunch of adverbs.

Some paragraphs here,
a sentence or two.
The kaleidoscope of words,
belong in a word, letting zoo.

The land lay fallow,
no plowing to do.
We must replant,
in a year or two.

Tilling the soil,
after the long rest,
plowing and harrowing,
will work the best.

When the dew,
falls from the Rose,
the day will be warmer,
The Sun has rose.

When the grass,
is still wet,
the Sun isn't at
apex, hasn't set.

The wind will blow,
through, the trees,
as my Soul is
no longer at ease.

Why, in the World,
when everything is gone,
I'm on my way,
in the words of a song?

I wasn't first,
wasn't last.
Don't talk about
a forgotten past

You were young.
I was too old.
You weren't bashful,
I was too bold.

The errors we made
in a checkered past,
are not returning,
gone away, didn't last.

The Great Alcohol Health Flip-Flop Isn’t That Hard to Understand—if You Know Who Was Behind It More at Slate Magazine ➜