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On the side of a hill in the deep forest green, tracing a sparrow on snow-crested ground,
blankets and bedclothes the child of the mountain sleeps unaware of the clarion call.
On the side of a hill, a sprinkling of leaves washes the grave with silvery tears,
a soldier cleans and polishes a gun.
War bellows, blazing in scarlet battalions, generals order their soldiers to kill
and to fight for a cause they've long ago forgotten

Monday, February 25, 2013

Coronal Rain

Was going to wait for the linkee-poo, but ZOMG! (Pointed to by John)


You can read the explanation at the youtube page here. It's raining plasma along lines in the magnetic field of the sun.

They should have sent a poet.

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