Wednesday, September 28, 2005

EMBERS FOR MEG For forty thousand generations we stirred the embers of a low fire, kept the audible prowlings of the huge night at bay. A small tribe, we looked up at the stars, and the spaces between the stars, tracked the transits and transformations of the moon, counted five wanderers, As chert or clay came to our hands, words came to us, and we built them into stories nested in stories, tool kits for making memory into myth, to tell the children, to tell the children, to tell the children how to compact the whole life of our tribe, a small tribe, into a bundle of words and pictures small enough to carry inside the head of an elder, but enough to survive a long trek, and feed the whole tribe, by the low fire, in the great dark, under a starry sky, give us meaning, give us meaning give us the meaning. by which we mean to survive. [This post © 2005 Dana Pattillo] 8:19:39 PM    comment []

© Copyright 2005 .