< Images of a planet being born - 450 light years away captured by an array of radio telescopes in Chile > ... what comes to mind is the opening verse from Walt Whitmans Leaves of Grass : Out of the cradle endlessly rocking, Out of the mocking-bird’s throat, the musical shuttle, Out of the Ninth-month midnight, Over the sterile sands and the fields beyond, where the child leaving his bed wander’d alone, bareheaded, barefoot, Down from the shower’d halo, Up from the mystic play of shadows twining and twisting as if they were alive, Out from the patches of briers and blackberries, From the memories of the bird that chanted to me. https://youtube/watch?v=WWeIcx1tHLk
Posted on: Sun, 09 Nov 2014 17:40:49 +0000
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