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(#115) HEIWA:
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Swords into ploughshares and spears into pruning hooks. That's what the Good Book says, but to make an idea sparkle you need to twist things about a bit. So I hit upon the notion of helmets into flowerpots and swords into trowels. Same idea: instruments of warfare into gardening tools. The little critter at lower right is a cricket, symbol-in my mind at least-of good fortune and tranquillity. Sitting on the porch on a summer evening, you hear the crickets chirping chirps of love. You can tell what temperature it is by counting chirps and doing some fancy arithmetic thing that nobody ever can quite remember, or you can look at a thermometer which is what I do. Crickets only become silent if something disturbs them. Occasionally, for reasons best known to themselves, they take up residence in the hearth and saw away like mad, making the whole house merry. Some people thought the picture was of a cockroach, which is why I mention it. After a real war, all that would be left would be cockroaches and blackberry vines. Maybe crabgrass. |