A poem roots, and I look for a rock
to rest my head on something difficult,
a trunk for flight-weary legs.
with a sense of finality,
making a lasting impression
on the wet earth
whose fecundity paints
violet trail blazes. The violence of the river to my left I find comforting. Who am I to set a leaf adrift?
I dare not look this upturned tree
in the shimmering mirror.
Rotors beat the sky hard.
I can’t help
to turn away and see the process —
rock, roots, death and beetles —
wait comfortably for the next flood.
I’ve been looking at the data available on cycling accidents in the Bay Area (of which I am a statistic). This data comes from CHP. I’ve learned the hard way to start a data analysis with a small subset of your data (else you sit around waiting for computations to happen), so I’ve started by looking at cycling accidents in Sonoma County.
I’m reading the Drunkard’s Walk: How Randomness Rules Our Lives by Leonard Mlodinow. In the chapter on False Positives and Positives Fallacies, he talks about the prosecutor’s fallacy in relation to the O.J. Simpson trial. [If you don’t know about the fallacy: see here.]
After today’s Real Analysis class, this is even funnier: