This poem is about land surveyors. It, just as easily, could be about enterprise architects, mapmakers, data scientists, bloggers, and journalists – bastions of the past, envisionaries of the future.
The Surveyor
He thrives on patterns,
his marks and monuments
transform a wilderness
and by his carefully tagged
and numbered squares,
neat roads, correction lines
and small cadastral lots
he clothes in certainty,
in geometrical designs,
man’s ancient rights.
He scans the skies,
reading some far-off star
by which he plots
meridians and makes his maps,
stitching a new-found world
into a patchwork quilt,
a net of metes and bounds,
so lands may know their own
and live in peace.
— DON W. THOMSON
Best wishes for 2017. Hold on tight. It’s going to be quite a ride.
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