Journal of a pre-pandemic Life in Wilderness
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Defoë had a kind of habit,
He took events and created a classic out of it
It took almost 200 years for the scientific community
to consider Defoë book A Journal of the Plague Year (http://www.gutenberg.org/etext/376),
As an historical testimony, and almost 300 years later
It is now world wide available for free (http://www.flutrackers.com/forum/showthread.php?t=6020)on this new media (http://www.gutenberg.org/etext/376) called Internet
But Deföe is mostly known as a fiction novelist
As the author of the Iconic Persona inspired by captain SelKirk
Named Robinson Crusoë by Defoë
,,,as if the wisdom of the survival Spirit of Captain Selkirk
And the ingeniousity of those people that lived trough the Plague Year
Merged in Crusoë...
This is just the humble opinion of a Snowy Owl
That repeats over and over
If only Darwin knew, if only....
I am just a Snowy Owl, whom,
After seing Wild Avians Nesting on the top of the Trees,
Decided to Nest on the top of my Tree, the Earth
Northern Snowy Owls Nest on the Ground where;
Wherever you look you see south.
And where..., in four steps,
Well..., you go around the world.
And yes, we turn our back to the Snow storm
To let the Winds built our Snow Nest
And yes I say something is wrong in the Darwinian Optics
The law of the most fit
This is an easy saying from Galapagos Island indeed
But when, as a northern Snowy Owl
I visit the Southern Snowy Owls
And see they are the main dish
Of those giant Lemmings of Southern Argentina and Chili
... I get a feeling that Darwin miss something,
in his Galapagos island
We live in a Nature that has a tendency to autoregulate itself,
But nay, say the Darwinists, ignoring that Snowy Owl Spirit, when up North
Make these tiny Lemmings of the North their dishes
While the giant Lemmings Spirit of the South
Makes those Southern Snowy Owls their dishes
If Darwin only knew...
Now to my Friend Crusoë
And also sprachen Thoreau 150 years ago
AT A CERTAIN season of our life we are accustomed to consider every spot as the possible site of a house. I have thus surveyed the country on every side within a dozen miles of where I live. In imagination I have bought all the farms in succession, for all were to be bought, and I knew their price. I walked over each farmer's premises, tasted his wild apples, discoursed on husbandry with him, took his farm at his price, at any price, mortgaging it to him in my mind; even put a higher price on it — took everything but a deed of it — took his word for his deed, for I dearly love to talk — cultivated it, and him too to some extent, I trust, and withdrew when I had enjoyed it long enough, leaving him to carry it on. This experience entitled me to be regarded as a sort of real-estate broker by my friends. Wherever I sat, there I might live, and the landscape radiated from me accordingly. What is a house but a sedes, a seat? — better if a country seat. I discovered many a site for a house not likely to be soon improved, which some might have thought too far from the village, but to my eyes the village was too far from it. Well, there I might live, I said; and there I did live, for an hour, a summer and a winter life; saw how I could let the years run off, buffet the winter through, and see the spring come in. The future inhabitants of this region, wherever they may place their houses, may be sure that they have been anticipated. An afternoon sufficed to lay out the land into orchard, wood-lot, and pasture, and to decide what fine oaks or pines should be left to stand before the door, and whence each blasted tree could be seen to the best advantage; and then I let it lie, fallow, perchance, for a man is rich in proportion to the number of things which he can afford to let alone. (Henry David Thoreau, Walden, Chapter 2. Where I Lived, and What I Lived for)
Crusoë is the kind of guy that does not look for these things that are not in his surroundings or happenings
He rather stubbornly look at all that is in his Surroundings and good for him.
And thus spoke Crusoë,
In the Archipelo of Insular Minds,
In pre-pandemic Times
As he drifted to Wilderness Island
Where facts and fictions work as a team
Since he is leaving tomorrow for Wilderness,
a couple of hours from my Nest,
I invited him to write
The Journal of a pre-pandemic Life in Wilderness
He told me,
That despite that he is far,
from a remote Village,
In a remote Region,
With no transport but his legs and a bicycle,
He willhave electricity, phone and Internet.
And that he will post as much as possible,
His Faithfull Journey into Wilderness
In the Journal of a pre-pandemic Life in Wilderness
I will give him a hand for his move
Way over there...
See you later my Friends
Snowy Owl
I would add that Jose Saramago's BLINDNESS is my favorite all-time plague novel--a gorgeous, provocative, glowing book.
Be very well, DA
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