Thoreau's Blog
An eminent member of the committee has speculated about Henry David Thoreau, if he had owned a cell phone. I can imagine that Ralph Waldo Emerson and Nathaniel Hawthorne might be in his calling circle, and Herman Melville as well. (Walt Whitman? He might already have a pretty big circle.)
So, let's start a new feature on the Mike Committee blog. What would Thoreau's blog be like? I imagine it this way:
Solitude at Walden
I came to the woods to be with Nature and to blog the nature of Nature and drink in the full nature of the Blog. So thankful was I that Walden was pristine in its Nature and yet capable of wireless connection. Truly, 'though a man march to the beat of a different drummer, still his connection to the world must be interoperable, platform compatible and cable ready. Like the birds of the air, he neither wants for companionship nor misses it if his blog also flies through the sphere and is looked upon by generous hearts akin to his.
When I return to my blog I find that visitors have been there and left their cards, either a bunch of flowers, or a wreath of evergreen, or a name in pencil on a yellow walnut leaf or a comment in the post it box. They who come rarely to the blogs take some little piece of my mind into their hands to play with by the way, on which they rant, either intentionally or accidentally . . .
03/28/1845
. . . and so on as you can imagine.
So, let's start a new feature on the Mike Committee blog. What would Thoreau's blog be like? I imagine it this way:
Solitude at Walden
I came to the woods to be with Nature and to blog the nature of Nature and drink in the full nature of the Blog. So thankful was I that Walden was pristine in its Nature and yet capable of wireless connection. Truly, 'though a man march to the beat of a different drummer, still his connection to the world must be interoperable, platform compatible and cable ready. Like the birds of the air, he neither wants for companionship nor misses it if his blog also flies through the sphere and is looked upon by generous hearts akin to his.
When I return to my blog I find that visitors have been there and left their cards, either a bunch of flowers, or a wreath of evergreen, or a name in pencil on a yellow walnut leaf or a comment in the post it box. They who come rarely to the blogs take some little piece of my mind into their hands to play with by the way, on which they rant, either intentionally or accidentally . . .
03/28/1845
. . . and so on as you can imagine.
Labels: Thoreau
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