Happy Thanksgiving!
While these links may not have much to do with wireless, they are some of my favorite streaming audio files. Thought you might enjoy them, too.
African Drums . Nigerian Drums . Latin Drums . Congas . Taiko . Portland Taiko . The Telegraph . NPR: Edison . Edison: “Hello” . Edison: 12th St Rag . “When Roll is Called Up Yonder” . Radio History . First Radio Station: KDKA . Hindenburg Crash . Pan American Blues . “Fear Itself” . “Day of Inflamy” . “Finest Hour” . Murrow . Stevenson: “Hell Freezes” . “I have a dream” . “Tear down this wall” . Wolfman . Tony Schwartz: Recordist . Don Hunter: Recordist . KGW: Columbus Day Storm . John Fahey . Punch Cards . SonarMap . Whale Songs . Dialtone Symphony . Koyaanisqatsi . Iridium Comes Down . SETI Array This American Life Archive . Prairie Home Companion Joke Show . Dawgy Mt. Breakdown . NPR’s Thanksgiving Feast .ra and my favorite NPR story; Insect Communications Part 2
The Waters of March (3 min) KWAX-FM
A stick, a stone, it’s the end of the road
It’s the rest of a stump, it’s a little alone
It’s a sliver of glass, it is life, it’s the sun
It is night, it is death, it’s a trap, it’s a gun
The oak when it blooms, a fox in the brush
A knot in the wood, the song of a thrush
The wood of the wind, a cliff, a fall
A scratch, a lump, it is nothing at all
It’s the wind blowing free, it’s the end of the slope
It’s a beam it’s a void, it’s a hunch, it’s a hope
And the river bank talks of the waters of March
It’s the end of the strain
The joy in your heart
The foot, the ground, the flesh and the bone
The beat of the road, a slingshot’s stone
A fish, a flash, a silvery glow
A fight, a bet the fange of a bow
The bed of the well, the end of the line
The dismay in the face, it’s a loss, it’s a find
A spear, a spike, a point, a nail
A drip, a drop, the end of the tale
A truckload of bricks in the soft morning light
The sound of a shot in the dead of the night
A mile, a must, a thrust, a bump,
It’s a girl, it’s a rhyme, it’s a cold, it’s the mumps
The plan of the house, the body in bed
And the car that got stuck, it’s the mud, it’s the mud
A float, a drift, a flight, a wing
A hawk, a quail, the promise of spring
And the river bank talks of the waters of March
It’s the promise of life, it’s the joy in your heart
A stick, a stone, it’s the end of the road
It’s the rest of a stump, it’s a little alone
A snake, a stick, it is John, it is Joe
It’s a thorn in your hand and a cut in your toe
A point, a grain, a bee, a bite
A blink, a buzzard, a sudden stroke of night
A pin, a needle, a sting a pain
A snail, a riddle, a wasp, a stain
A pass in the mountains, a horse and a mule
In the distance the shelves rode three shadows of blue
And the river talks of the waters of March
It’s the promise of life in your heart
A stick, a stone, the end of the road
The rest of a stump, a lonesome road
A sliver of glass, a life, the sun
A knife, a death, the end of the run
And the river bank talks of the waters of March
It’s the end of all strain, it’s the joy in your heart.
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