I didn't realize until this morning that yesterday was pi day (also ALbert Einstein's birthday). And what is really strange is that I woke up yesterday dreaming a poem about pi and jotted the lines down in my notebook:
"like the mathemetician who spends his life
in pursuit of imaginary and transcendental numbers
his giant computer humming night and day
solving for pi out to the trillionth digit
and somewhere out there it begins to repeat
5 . . . 5 . . . 5 . . . 5 . . . 5 . . .
and he wonders is it a bug
in the program, a slight hiccup
in the microprocessor's silicon chip
or a message from the universe
the circle finally squared
the closing notes of music of a symphony
a flower bud slowly opening
the world coming to a close
and then it returns
back to random integers"
. . .
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