Thursday, January 2, 2014

Tufted Cedars

Big excitement here in the belly.  There is a possibility of  "Snow on Tufted Cedar" sometime in the next few hours. And I have been charged with the responsibility of recording the event.  Which means that a majority of my day will be spent keenly anticipating something that might not happen. I have the coat, the woolly hat, the rubber boots and the fierce grin.  But because the room where I sleep is currently working through  it's own life crisis, it seems to have swallowed, and I am beginning to believe has completely digested, one rather critical part of the several parts that comprise what I refer to as "The Camera."

 The point about words in sentences, as an alternative record of "Snow on Tufted Cedar" is the number of them required to even begin to get close to a description of the event. This challenge reminds me a little of the Ancients who were quite able to  pass down experience, however transient that experience might have been. Celtic craftsmen in metal work, mastered techniques that to this day remain mysterious. Yet the Romans, who I have always disliked for their victory over Carthage, record how primitive the conquered Britons were. A deduction Roman historians took from an absence of any kind of written word or alphabet.   Which means I think that should the room where I sleep continue to willfully subordinate my own needs, then "Snow on Tufted Cedar" is all that need be uttered.

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