Heart Happy (cathy_edgett) wrote,
Heart Happy

Vapor Trails!!

My brother sends this on vapor trails.


I recently saw a climatologist interviewed regarding the affects of vapor trails and it seems they too are contributing mightily to global warming.  If you watch just a single one it spreads out dramatically and does not go away quickly.  When you consider how many miles the average jet travels combined with how many planes are actually up there, they are now seeing how significant the affects really are.  He said that immediately following 9/11 after all planes had been grounded they were shocked to see how dramatic the affects of vapor trails were from only 10 or 12 fighter planes in the sky at that time as they observed from satellites in space.  Prior to that they had not distinguished between the vapor trails and normal cloud cover but when the cross country traffic was reduced to so few planes, they could witness precisely what a dramatic affect each individual plane was having.

Well, that is interesting.  I enjoyed the trail, and slow disintegration of a vapor trail yesterday, that wonderful mark walking across the sky, and, now, I learn it may not be so innocent, and, I was aware of that, even as I watched.  I knew a noisy jet was making the trail, and yet, all was silent for a moment.  I played with the image, like I do clouds in the sky.    I am reminded now of Blake's poems of Innocence and Experience.   Each moment is both.   We have two eyes.

These are the two most famous poems in Blake's study of Innocence and Experience, but there are many more.   Check out:   http://www.nimbi.com/songs_of_innocence_introduction.html

   Little Lamb, who make thee
   Dost thou know who made thee,
 Gave thee life, and bid thee feed
 By the stream and o'er the mead;
 Gave thee clothing of delight,
 Softest clothing, wolly, bright;
 Gave thee such a tender voice,
 Making all the vales rejoice?
   Little Lamb, who made thee?
   Dost thou know who made thee?
   Little Lamb, I'll tell thee;
   Little Lamb, I'll tell thee:
 He is called by thy name,
 For He calls Himself a Lamb
 He is meek, and He is mild,
 He became a little child.
 I a child, and thou a lamb,
 We are called by His name.
   Little Lamb, God bless thee!
   Little Lamb, God bless thee!


 Tiger, tiger, burning bright
 In the forest of the night,
 What immortal hand or eye
 Could Frame thy fearful symmetry?
 In what distant deeps or skies
 Burnt the fire of thine eyes?
 On what wings dare he aspire?
 What the hand dare seize the fire?
 And what shoulder and what art
 Could twist the sinews of thy heart?
 And, when thy heart began to beat,
 What dread hand and what dread feet?
 What the hammer?  what the chain?
 In what furnace was thy brain?
 What the anvil? what dread grasp
 Dare its deadly terrors clasp?
 When the stars threw down their spears,
 And watered heaven with their tears,
 Did he smile his work to see?
 Did he who made the lamb make thee?
 Tiger, tiger, burning bright
 In the forests of the night,
 What immortal hand or eye
 Dare frame thy fearful symmetry?



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