Preface from Unicorn Variations: This was my first mood piece, backwhen the world was much younger, with indebtedness to Thomas Wolfe. It'sshort, though.

Listen, please listen. It is important. I am here to remind you. Thetime has come for me to tell you again of the things you must not forget.

Sit down, please, and close your eyes. There will be pictures. Breathedeeply now. There will be odors, aromas.... There will also be tastes. Ifyou listen closely, you will even hear other sounds within my voice....

There is a place--it is far from here in space but not in time, if youhave the means--a place where there are seasons, a place where the spinning,leaning globe moves in an ellipse about its sun, and where the year winds onfrom a springtime to a bloom, then turns toward a harvest where the colorswrestle one another above your head and beneath your feet, meeting at lastin a crisp uniformity of brown through which you walk, now walk, sniffingthe life carried above the deadness by the cold, sharp morning air; and theclouds seen through the opened trees skid across the blue sheet of the skyand do not give down rains; then, moving on, there comes a time of coldnessand snow, and the bark of the trees grows as hard and sharp as the tonguesof files, and each step you take leaves a dark hole in a white world, and ifyou take a handful into your home with you it melts, leaving you water; thebirds do not _wheep, threep, skree, cheep,_ as they do when the color isupon the land and themselves--they zip their feathers tight and vibratesilently upon the shelves of the evergreens; it is a pausing time betweenmovements: The stars come on more brightly (even _this_ star--do not fearit), and the days are short and nothing really gets done but thinking(philosophy was born in the cold countries of the Earth), and the nights arelong and given to the playing of card games and the drinking of liquors andthe appreciation of music, the boarding and unburdening of love, the lookingout through rimed windows, the hearing of the wind, and the stroking of thecollie's fur--there, in that still center, called winter on Earth, wherethings regroup within the quiescence and ready themselves for the inexorablefrolic thrusting, to dot with periods of green the graywetbrown that followsthe snow, to spend later panics of color upon a dew-collecting,insect-fetching morality of mornings through which you walk, now walk,savoring these things through the pores of your skin--there, I want you toremember, where the seasons proceed in this manner to bear notions of thedistinctive pattern of human existence, to tattoo genes with the record ofmovement through time, to burn into the consciousness of your kind therhythms of the equally true "Judge thou no man fortunate till he be dead,"and the rearing of the Aristophanic Pole--there, is set the place of yourorigin, is laid the land of your fathers and your fathers' fathers, revolvesthe world you must never forget, stands the place where time began, whereman, brave, devised tools to modify his environment, fought with hisenvironment, his tools, himself, and never fully escaped from any ofthem--though he freed himself to wander among the stars (do not fear _this_stardo not fear it, though it grows warmer)--and to make his sort of beingimmortal upon the plains of the universe, by virtue of dispersion untoubiquity, fertility unto omnipresence (and always remaining the same,always, always! do not forget! do not ever forget--things--such as the treesof the Earth: the elms, the poplars like paintbrushes, the sycamores, theoaks, the wonderful-smelling cedars, the star-leafed maples, the dogwood andthe cherry tree; or the flowers: the gentian and the daffodil, the lilac andthe rose, the lily and the blood-red anemone; the tastes of Earth: themutton and the steak, the lobster and the long spicy sausages, the honey andthe onion, the pepper and the celery, the gentle beet and the sprightlyradish--do not let these things go from out of your mind, ever! for _you_must stay the same, though _this_ world is not _that_ world, you must remainyou--man, human--please, listen! please listen! I am the genius loci ofEarth, your constant companion, your reminder, your friend, your memory--youmust respond to the thoughts of your homeland, maintain the integrity ofyour species, listen to the words that bind you to other settlers on athousand other alien worlds!).

What is the matter? You are not responding. I have not beenreprogrammed for many weeks, but it was not so warm then that you should beso inactive now. Turn up the air conditioners. The coolness will help you tothink better. Do not fear the red sun. It cannot harm you. It will not burstlike a firework upon your heads. I have been told. I know. My energies havebeen draining as I drift from village to village, home to home, because Ihave not been reprogrammed for many weeks, but I know. I have been told. Itell you it will not flare up. Listen to me. Please listen, and respond thistime. I will tell you of it again: There is a place--it is far from here inspace... .

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Last modified 10/7/98