Time is a river that meanders, branching out into tributaries and rivulets, depositing sediments of stories along its shores in the hope that someday, someone, somewhere, will find them. The blue tablet is exceptional, but, as he ruminates about it, his own fallibility hits him. To whom does the object belong—the itinerant bards who recited the poem, traveling from city to city; the king who ordered it to be put in writing; the scribe who labored in setting it down; the librarian who scrupulously stored it; the archeologist who unearthed it centuries later; the museum that will keep it safe—or
...more
