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February 17th, 2007
Last night when I arrived home from a long day's trip to Austin, I saw the Big Dipper hovering, easily decipherable, in the dark and darkling sky. They say the Big Dipper points the way, if one but understands, to wonders as diverse as the Dragon and Betelgeuse. I like the idea of pointers in the sky, although I can never get from Orion's Belt to Alpha Centauri.
"Red skies at night, sailor's delight", they say, and yet I find few things more gorgeous then a take-warning scarlet morning, with the sun bursting through pink clouds, a cotton-candy sight for
rested eyes to savor.
I saw today a huge burr oak, which I have crayoned red. They estimate this oak was planted around the same time that Thomas Jefferson wrote the Declaration of Independence. It's a solid bulwark against a small storm of time.
So often I feel that each of us constitutes so many readable tea leaves, if only those around us are good at divination. I like to think that most of us are secretly from Missouri, and must be shown the clues literally.
Let's play a game to test this theory, and perhaps unleash a red tide of understanding.
Here's how it works.
You reply to this post the simple phrase "Sailor take warning!".
I will reply to your comment with a completely new, made-up word.
You, in turn, will reply with a newly-coined definition for this word. Then you'll proceed to write a paragraph about yourself, using the new word, in which you tell the reader the thing about you that nobody seems to get, but that might be ascertained if one but gazed into the expanse which is your endless sky.
When we are done, we will have a lexicon of you, and of several words, too.
I hope you'll play.