In a time that is shrouded in the heavy blanket of the cult of personality and carefully curated digital identities, what does it mean to be doing the work, silently, of archivists? There are so many among us who are like the squirrel of this poem - people who are important because they are watching, and collecting evidence. They carefully hoard integrity and truth against the current of false witness.
Maybe this is a truly important service - the work of memory. The work of the archivist is not the curation of opinion. It is to collect the detritus of reality, because even a single hazelnut can tell the story of the forest.
