New Year’s Day

‘Man is born free, and everywhere he is in chains. Those who think themselves the masters of others are indeed greater slaves than they.’

Jean Jacques Rousseau, in his book, ‘The Social Contract’.

1. Today twenty four million people (the entire population of Australia) crammed into the Domain for Field Day. Field Day is a concert featuring dozens of bands, none of which this scribe has heard of. That either means the bands are obscure, or it means this scribe . . . . That’s all it could mean. The bands are obscure.

The place was as crowded as this market in Thailand:

2. Mr Squib didn’t want to attempt to talk over the music and didn’t even turn up. (Unless, of course, he was a musician in one of those obscure bands.) But the gallant Steve Maxwell turned up and this scribe can report that he spent most of his time sketching in preparation for the more detailed paintings he intends to paint.

Those paintings are something to look forward to. The lad has talent.

3. Here is another brief video taken in a crowded market place.

4. Mr Squib intends to discuss a poem this coming Sunday, and this scribe thinks it’s only fair that you punters can read it first, in preparation. Here it is:

Child on Top of a Greenhouse.
The wind billowing out the seat of my britches,
My feet crackling splinters of glass and dried putty,
The half-grown chrysanthemums staring up like accusers,
Up through the streaked glass, flashing with sunlight,
A few white clouds all rushing eastward,
A line of elms plunging and tossing like horses,
And everyone, everyone pointing up and shouting!

Theodore Roethke

5. They say Death doesn’t take a holiday. Nor does Facebook. If you want to receive these posts on Facebook then you might as well subscribe to our Facebook page.