Where the Future of Writing Lives

This English, eh. What a talkie!


What a funny word.


Ha ha ha.

Hey, imagine a language that doesn’t write human perceptions, but combs the world for connections in the Earth. Sound far-fetched? No, not at all. But mysterious. Yes.

There it is, a word in that language, combing the fog. Nice, huh. And again.

Still mysterious? Have a look in human light:

It’s ponderosa and her daughters! The season doesn’t matter.

So, what of this combing? Ah, that’s the thing. Look see.

Ponderosa comes from globular cones, which roll down hill. When they lose force, they stop, likely because the sharp hooks on their lips have caught on grass and sagebrush or because they pile up on each other like wind or water.

They are, in other words, combed out of the air at the intersection of gravity, wood and grass.

Or deer trails following old post-glacial slumping as the skin of the earth slides over her bones, with age, and we all know about that after awhile, don’t we?

There’s another component to this. Look:

Layers, see. The tree not only uses grass to comb itself out of falling into exactly the places where water settles (and it does need water), but it creates combs of branches, that comb light, snow and birds out of the sky.

And time. It also combs time. Don’t forget about time.

Ah, beautiful pines. The English word that translates this Earth-word, is just nothing at all: pine. Zzzz. How can anyone make anything out of that? And we haven’t even gotten into the mapping language of the bark.

Not a whit.

Our future is calling for us out of the past.


1 reply »

  1. I’m captivated by the notion of the earth slumping over her bones – those wrinkles that I know so well. The next time I see a hillside combed and neatened with animal trails like that, maybe I’ll believe my own face isn’t so bad after all….


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