But look at how we organize our tribes-bloggers preside over large estates, kings and queens whose spouses’ virtues are oft-lauded but whose faces are rarely seen. It’s only that our village is no longer physical, but connected by DSL instead of roads. We come to conventions, we create small communities of support and distributed skills-when one of us needs help, our village steps in. We make pickles and jams on private, individual scales, when many of our mothers forgot those skills if they ever knew them. I and many of my friends own more than one spinning wheel. “Many people in this room have an Etsy store where they create unique, unreplicable artifacts or useful items to be sold on a small scale, in a common marketplace where their friends meet and barter. The ancient map-makers wrote across unexplored regions, 'Here are lions.' Across the villages of fishermen and turners of the earth, so different are these from us, we can write but one line that is certain, 'Here are ghosts.' ("Village Ghosts")” The dumb multitudes are no more concerned with us than is the old horse peering through the rusty gate of the village pound. The dumb village multitudes pass on unchanging the feel of the spade in the hand is no different for all our talk: good seasons and bad follow each other as of old. We listen to eloquent speaking, read books and write them, settle all the affairs of the universe. When you pass the inn at the end of the village you leave your favourite whimsy behind you for you will meet no one who can share it. Every man is himself a class every hour carries its new challenge. In the little towns and villages there are no minorities people are not numerous enough. “In the great cities we see so little of the world, we drift into our minority.
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