Listening to radio an interviewer ask their interviewee  “describe the experience for the listener”.  Description is all the listener needs, imagination does the rest.  “well…” come’s the reply  “its just too beautiful for words”.  The answer makes me want to rip out the interviewees  tongue and slap them with it.  The pursuit  of description engages and overcomes  the possibility of faliure (to describe). If something is worth pursuing it means it matters.  Ergo   “it’s just  too beautiful for words”  causes  things to disappear.  You think I am taking this too far. Good. Then we are on the same page.

If a tree falls in the forest and If nobody saw it or heard it fall then did it? We have an obligation, to share what we see.  It did. The act of sharing is as important as the information it carries:    the action of description and acknowledgement  is  the greatest gift of language.  The first words of a child are often the description and realisation  of some body.   Imagine it did not speak because the world was too beautiful for words.  But the child does speak and therein its power. And in the relatively recent story of colonisation language was the first to be taken from the children of  indigenous peoples. The languages of the Inuits,  here in Greenland taken by the Danes, the language of the aborigines taken by the English, the language of the Kenyan peoples, in east Africa taken by the english. This is why I blog.  I never had  family.   I blog because it gives me a point of record  or reference that I was alive  at any given time.  In acknowledging the disappearance of the ice from our earth: in blogging,  a simple act of description, we are acknowledging that they were there. Did the tree fall in the forest though nobody saw it or heard it. It did, cause I did,  I saw it.   And if I don’t say it now there’ll be none left to fall.  And what was the first word of the child? And why did it matter?