Forward to next post: On sale today: John Scalzi’s The End of All Things
Go, gather photons. Seek, and you will find.
Go pluck them where they hang from bowing trees
And cast a silver net upon the seas.
Retrieve them from the depths where they were mined.
Then harvest me some waves (the not-wet kind):
Ensnare them as they drift upon the breeze,
Unthread them from the fuzzy legs of bees,
And tease them from the hedgerows they’ve entwined.
Collect it all in one fluorescent mound,
A massless mass of quanta piled high,
Entangled, incandescent, golden-bright.
Then pull up chairs, my friends, and cluster round.
This is the place to talk, to laugh, to cry,
To sit and celebrate in gathered light.
In prose: this is a thread to plan a Gathering of Light (or more than one) at Sasquan. Do the thing.