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some gifts

Here are some things that have come my way between yesterday and now:

from wakanomori, a different kind of collie--a lovely border collie! Actually... damn... the photo he sent--which is *so cute*--doesn't give the url of where it's originally from, so I can't link to it here. Well. You can tell me later, Wakanomori. Meanwhile, here is an almost-as-cute border collie:

And for cat lovers (or celtic music lovers), from dream_wind, Irish Cat drinking songs!

And from someone connected to The Book of the Milky Way, a great new word: sapsicle. It's an icicle made when sap from a sugar maple tree freezes. It's sweet.

Today it's very cold--no maple sap today--and snow is lightly falling.

Under the cut is a poem by Billy Collins,

The First Geniuses
(Billy Collins)

It is so early almost nothing has happened.
Agriculture is an unplanted seed.
Music and the felt hat are thousands of years away.
The sail and the astrolabe, not even specks on the horizon.
The window and scissors: inconceivable.

But even now, before the orchestra of history
has had time to warm up, the first geniuses
have found one another and gathered into a thoughtful group.
Gaunt, tall and bearded, as you might expect,
They stand outlined against a landscape of smoking volcanoes

or move along the shores of lakes, still leaden and unnamed,
or sit on high bare cliffs looking like early arrivals
at a party the earth is about to throw
now that the dinosaurs have finally cleared the room.

They have yet to discover fire, much less invent the wheel,
so they wander a world mostly dark and motionless
wondering what to do with their wisdom
like young girls wonder what to do with their hair.

Once in a while someone will make a pronouncement
about the movement of the stars, the density of silence,
or the strange behavior of water in winter,
but there is no alphabet, not a drop of ink on earth,
so the words disappear into the deep green forests
like flocks of small, startled birds.

Eventually one of them will come up with the compass
or draw the first number in sand with a stick,
and he will let out a shout like Archimedes in his tub
and curious animals will look up from their grazing.

Later the water screw and the catapult will appear;
the nail, the speedometer and the bow tie will follow.
But until then they can only pace the world gravely,
knowing nothing but the thrumming of their minds,
not the whereabouts of north or the notion of zero,
not even how to sharpen a stone to a deadly point.


( 2 comments — Leave a comment )
Feb. 26th, 2006 01:46 am (UTC)
now that the dinosaurs have finally cleared the room
love this Billy Collins poem. Many great lines, but I particularly like "wondering what to do with their wisdom like young girls wonder what to do with their hair." I also like the words disappearing into the deep green forests "like flocks of small startled birds." Well, until the nail, the speedometer and the bow tie --
the Dazed Elderly Editor
Sep. 6th, 2006 05:48 pm (UTC)
thank you so much for this...it's on MY lj now!
( 2 comments — Leave a comment )

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