The web can't compete with handwritten postcards that smell of far away places and beaten-up journal pages with runny ink. But reality declares that this new medium deserves some attention, especially from those shooting digital pics and vids, which I hope to do more and more this coming year.
Hopefully this blog will move soon, somewhere more cozy and permanent. But as usual, time is short. The day after tomorrow I fly from Reno to Salt Lake, Salt Lake through the starry night to Paris, and from Paris to Geneva, where I will put out my thumb and haul my paraglider and sleeping bag toward the mountains with hopes of capturing a few of those immortal moments of inspiration we all treasure. Where the aroma of coffee mixes with WiFi, I'll do my best to send them back.
As I've discovered them, I've been hording those glimmering gems in a dozen journals, countless scribblings, and a hundred thousand camera clicks. My hope is to start letting them free here like I haven't done before--some old and dusty, some freshly cut, and some still hidden in crust. Tonight I pack for the journey. Glad to have some of you along to share those scintillating glints...
The lights begin to twinkle from the rocks:
The long day wanes: the slow moon climbs:
the deep Moans round with many voices.
Come, my friends...
Graham, would you please note the authors on the poetry? Maybe someday I will again be reading poetry in earnest, when I get my fingernails clean. S
ReplyDeleteBoth Tennyson (they should both link to Tennyson poetry sites).
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