Welcome 2005!
Ring out, wild bells, to the wild sky,
The flying cloud, the frosty
light:
The year is dying in the night;
Ring out, wild bells, and let him
die.
Ring out the old, ring in the new,
Ring, happy bells, across the
snow:
The year is going, let him go;
Ring out the false, ring in the
true.
Ring out the grief that saps the mind,
For those that here we see no
more;
Ring out the feud of rich and poor,
Ring in redress to all
mankind.
Ring out a slowly dying cause,
And ancient forms of party strife;
Ring
in the nobler modes of life,
With sweeter manners, purer laws.
Ring out the want, the care, the sin,
The faithless coldness of the
times;
Ring out, ring out my mournful rhymes,
But ring the fuller minstrel
in.
Ring out false pride in place and blood,
The civic slander and the
spite;
Ring in the love of truth and right,
Ring in the common love of
good.
Ring out old shapes of foul disease;
Ring out the narrowing lust of
gold;
Ring out the thousand wars of old,
Ring in the thousand years of
peace.
Alfred, Lord Tennyson
Image: D. Morris
"Morning. Frozen rime lusters the grass;
the sun, round as an orange and orange as hot-weather moons, balances on the
horizon, burnishes the silvered winter woods. A wild turkey calls. A renegade
hog grunts in the undergrowth. Soon, by the edge of knee-deep, rapid-running
water, we have to abandon the buggy. Queenie wades the stream first, paddles
across barking complaints at the swiftness of the current, the pneumonia-making
coldness of it. We follow, holding our shoes and equipment (a hatchet, a burlap
sack) above our heads. A mile more: of chastising thorns, burrs and briers that
catch at our clothes; of rusty pine needles brilliant with gaudy fungus and
molted feathers. Here, there, a flash, a flutter, an ecstasy of shrillings
remind us that not all the birds have flown south. Always, the path unwinds
through lemony sun pools and pitchblack vine tunnels. Another creek to cross: a
disturbed armada of speckled trout froths the water round us, and frogs the size
of plates practice belly flops; beaver workmen are building a dam. On the
farther shore, Queenie shakes herself and trembles. My friend shivers, too: not
with cold but enthusiasm. One of her hat's ragged roses sheds a petal as she
lifts her head and inhales the pine-heavy air. "We're almost there; can you
smell it, Buddy'" she says, as though we were approaching an ocean.
"This Water Buffalo Gift allows a Cambodian “animal bank” to acquire an
additional water buffalo, which is then “loaned” to a subsistence farmer,
helping to lighten the heavy burden of agricultural production. Few animals are
sturdier or more reliable than the water buffalo, which can plow, assist in
clearing land, and carry heavy burdens. Over time, each recipient returns a
water buffalo calf to the animal bank, allowing the gift to be extended to other
families.
"Now this is where things get out of hand.
"Hack 2, Use Waterman pens with Pilot G2 ink: I use 
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