As a bookend for Before the Beginning's look at the Bay Psalm Book, here's The Trumpet, which publishes new compositions in the shape-note tradition, beautifully typeset by James Gingerich, three times a year. The image is of my own song, Altamont, published in Volume 1, Issue 3.

Dürer's Melancholia at Wikipedia. The world is so full of a number of things, I'm sure we should all be as happy as kings—and you know how happy kings are.

Notice how low the sun is in the sky. Just now I'm hating the fall equinox, and poor Dürer had to put up with the latitudes of northern Europe!

At the web site of The Textile Museum you can see images of both the permanent collection and current shows. Just now they have some stunning Turkish textiles. The image here is from the permanent collection, an applique panel showing the moon landing, made in the San Blas Islands off Panama.

SWP Records issues recordings of "music that regular labels won't touch", including many beautiful field recordings of village music from many parts of Africa. At the link you can hear some delightful singing from Zambia, but there are many more pleasures at their site.

My total ignorance of the African-American quilting traditions was shattered when I ran across an art book in a museum shop. At Corrine Riley's website you can see a slide show of these gorgeous designs.

Be careful -- you might lose track of time -- when you visit Greg Ross's Futility Closet, where you can ponder questions, answers, and fascinating tales gathered from all over. For instance, you can discover that mathematicians have been unable to determine the size of the largest sofa you can get around a corner in a one-meter corridor:

(Image from Wikimedia Commons vie Greg Ross)

The best way to see and hear a clavichord is to know someone who owns one, but the second-best way is probably to use the internet. Here's John Irving demonstrating an instrument owned by Edinburgh University.

singing ringing tree | tonkin liu from tonkin liu on Vimeo.

Here's a sculpture that sings in the wind, sometimes sounding close enough to human to be genuinely frightening.

Here's Louis Killen's Lord Franklin, as strong an evocation of loss as I ever heard.

Ok, I am in thrall to Google maps.