When I ride to town,
Purpose in mind,
Usually food,
Cat or Val,
It’s an opportunity to record thoughts,
Relevant to me,
Silly to others,
Years ago, one fellow thought a fool,
He recorded sound,
Wasn’t a foolhardy notion,
Some of these sounds have passed out of human hearing for eternity,
Gone the way of the carrier pigeon,
Man assumed no matter how many killed for sport they heavens would forever be filled with carrier pidgeons,
It is beyond me how any breathing human ‘Ever could imagine murder in such a degree of carnage would not eradicate a species from mother earth!’
The loon,State bird of Minnesota is high pitched different from any other bird sound Anywhere!
It could all go back sound recording to the one guy with a notion of the importance of sound,
Imagine if you will,
No Watergate tapes,
Years of Nixon in the Whitehouse!
Shocker right!
So I record thoughts while I drive,
Or supper with the cat family,
Dad had dementia,
Nor fricking government’s stealing my rights,
Placing me with a bully,
I have written what my half sister did to mom and myself,
Of the cowardess that streaks its way through my family,
So I record my history,
We as a Villiage,
No a nation,
Need all our stories,
I learn and recall in audible,
It’s not relevant what others imagine is silly,
It might just be other’s had not linked the significant value to the audible word,
is equal to the written word.
The recordings also made the link,
Neigh the jump from stone aged wall carvings,[Pictureairy if you will]
Long forgotten language in a very real sense our Rosetta stone,
Then stories changed from those told around the camp fire ,
Knowledge exchanged hands,
Different formats arose,
Our stories are linked,
They are limitless,
Memories grew as mentle capacity understood the complexity of the story concept,
No longer did humanity think is stick figures,
The [artform] of a story took on depth,
Audio gives a story or thought a nuance,
The start of a story is no longer a few words like,
And one fled!
Val Whitewolf 