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posted by hornean
Run outside to play in the warm summer sun where the césped, hierba grows tall and sunflowers fill the fields.

Baby bears play just like you.
They grow fat and round on fresh summer césped, hierba and learn to catch their first pescado cena down por the riverbank.
Summer is time to learn and to grow.

Baby mountain oveja learn the safest path to summer meadows. ansarino, gosling wings grow stronger, their voices louder.

Up in the trees, the songs of spring suddenly soften. curruca, reinita mothers and curruca, reinita fathers, busy feeding their young, have little time to sing. Hummingbirds sip nectar for themselves and catch bugs for their tiny babies.

Baby birds flap their wings to beg for juicy spiders, beetles, and ants.

Then one day, the baby birds finally fly, testing their wings on the warm summer air.

Beneath the cool umbrella of forest leaves, woodpeckers tap for beetles.
Nearby, bluebirds buscar for diamond drops of dew in the morning meadow.

In summer heat, coyote’s capa is sleeker, cooler.
comadreja sneaks from rock to rock wearing a new summer capa too.
And, perdiz nival, perdiz hides in feathers painted like a summer meadow.

Summer is time for baby moose to grow, and grow, and grow. por summer’s end it is hard to tell who is mother, who is daughter.

Now that his antlers are fully grown, the toro moose carries a heavy weight.

Caribou grow new summer antlers too. They wander far to the north in the land of all night sun.

Here at the edge of polar ice, great white bears hunt in the longest days of the year.

If tu flew with the snow ganso flocks o with the arctic loon, this would be your summer home.

The far north is where the snowy owl hunts mice and lemmings, as the long days end in summer’s last golden slumber.

Then, lobo howls ring in the first crisp nights.
A cool wind feels like fall is near.
Another winter will soon be here.
added by hornean
added by hornean
added by hornean
added by hornean
added by hornean
added by hornean
added by hornean
Moingona, Iowa (July 6, 1881)

Fifteen-year-old Kate Shelley pulled the sheets from the line. A terrible storm was coming. Kate could feel it in the air. A cold wind rose as she carried the heavy basket back to the house. Black clouds rolled in. The sky grew dark.


Kate stood at the cocina window with her younger sisters and brother. They saw lightning flash. They heard thunder crack in the hills. Then the rain came.
As the rain poured down, they watched the water rising in Honey Creek. Soon it overflowed its banks and flooded part of the yard.
"I'm going to let the animales out of the barn," Kate...
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"How was your class trip to the farm?"

"Oh…boring…kind of dull…until the cow started crying."


"A cow…crying?"
"Yeah, tu see, a haystack fell on her."

"But a haystack doesn’t just fall over."


"It does if a farmer crashes into it with his tractor."
"Oh, come on, a farmer wouldn’t do that."
"He would if were too busy yelling at the pigs to get off our school bus."


"What were the pigs doing on the bus?"
"Eating our lunches."


"Why were they eating your lunches?"
"Because we threw their maíz at each other, and they didn't have anything else to eat."
"Well, that makes sense, but why were tu throwing...
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This is the great Kapiti Plain, all fresh and green from the African rains
A sea of césped, hierba for the ground birds to nest in, and patches of shade for wild creatures to rest in;
With acacia trees for giraffes to browse on, and césped, hierba for herdsmen to pasture their cows on.

But one año the rains were so very belated, that all of the big wild creatures migrated.
The Ki-pat helped to end that terrible drought, and this story tells how it all came about!

This is the cloud, all heavy with rain, that shadowed the ground on Kapiti Plain.

This is the grass, all brown and dead, that needed the rain from the cloud...
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posted by hornean
One día last spring, Louis, a butcher, turned into a fish. Silvery scales. Big lips. A tail. A salmon.


Louis did not lead, before this, an unusual life. His grandfather was a butcher. His father was a butcher. So, Louis was a butcher. He had a small comprar on Flatbush. Steady customers. Good meat. He was always friendly, always helpful, a wonderful guy.


But Louis was not a happy man. He hated meat. From the time he was a little boy he was always surrounded por meat. Whenever he would visit his grandfather on Sundays it was always, “Louis, my favorito! grandson. What a good boy. Here’s a hotdog.”...
continue reading...
added by hornean