No brain left, just enough energy to follow the links and track through the web for delightfully uproarious accounts of dreadful things like this one. My idea of a pleasant Sunday morning—no workshop, lectures, readings, introductions, conferences in prospect.
dg
Organised ranks of men standing under an arrow storm can do one of three things. They can take it, the steepling hysteria, the terror, the incessant keening of the goose feathers, the thud and grunt, the screaming and pleading, the smell of shit and vomit and split gut; they can stand with their skin prickling in mortal expectation. Or they can retreat – get out of the rain, give ground, lose form and purpose, and run. Or they can attack – move forward, confront the butcher, the bloody, unmanly, unarmoured, jeering peasant bowmen.
via Towton, the bloodbath that changed the course of our history | England – Times Online.
dg,
Thanks for this enriching Sunday morning read that I never (this is one of those rare but absolutely appropriate uses of “never”) would have read had it not been posted on NC on a Sunday morning before I was fully awake with all filters running.
lynne
Last night, I was in this post-flight, post-residency stupor, halfway into some sort of true sleep state in my own bed for the first time in weeks when sirens woke me up. Sirens are as native a sound in my neighborhood as a snow-grater in Montpelier; in fact, they are going off somewhere down the block as I write this comment. But I was so disoriented. I still thought I was in that little cinder block Dewey dorm room. The voices and faces of various VCFAers were all floating around the edges of my foggy consciousness, and I really couldn’t figure out where I was for a few minutes. Now it’s Sunday morning, the sun is streaming through my Bay windows, there are trees in bloom in the community garden across the street, and a visceral account of war greets me on NC (which reminds me a bit of Rich’s original graduation speech). I’m starting to feel grounded again,and I’m certainly glad to be home, but already, I feel pangs of longing for the community I just left. It will be nice to catch glimpses of it here.
I’m still in re-entry process as well, but the New York siren community is helping speed it along. The hard angles of New York City’s dark buildings contribute to the certainty that I’m no longer in Dewey looking out.