| Against the rubber tongues of cows and the hoeing hands of men
Thistles spike the summer air
And crackle open under a blue-black pressure.
Every one a revengeful burst
Of resurrection, a grasped fistful
Of splintered weapons and Icelandic frost thrust up
From the underground stain of a decayed Viking.
They are like pale hair and the gutterals of dialects.
Every one manages a plume of blood.
Then they grow grey like men.
Mown down, it is a feud. Their sons appear
Stiff with weapons, fighting back over the same ground. |
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| I am really enjoying this bio of Champlain, amidst thoughts on the value of being a generalist (brought up once more in my mind by Dr. Crutchfield: link). Champlain was an ultimate example of this. I'm impressed. Despite the fact he was a Frenchman. ;) I can imagine little more soul-crushing than deep and lifelong specialization.
As they put it back then in langue xaintongeaise, "Qui va chap'tit, va loin..."
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| So since I moved to Florida, things have been eventful:
Police helicopter hovering over our house.
Saw a planetarium show, went behind an IMAX dome and into the projector room.
Ate everything from farmer's market salads to Stephen Colbert's Americone Dream.
Attended service at a Protestant cathedral.
Played soccer with a random group of MKs I came across.
Replaced my own distributor cap & rotor.
Reconstituted my computer& iTunes from scratch.
Caught up on work.
Stayed up too late on a Friday night...
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