Dawn, 21 December 2012. Thousands, perhaps tens of thousands of people gather on mountaintops to await the end of the world, as predicted by the Mayan calendar. Indeed, many are not waiting for the Winter Solstice, but are gathering even now on the slopes of a hill in France, convinced the end is near, and they want to be sure they have a front row seat. They are not deterred by the evidence of history, the evidence that many hills have been climbed to await the end, only to see the appointed day end as usual, and the believers trudging wearily and disappointedly home.

The dawn comes first to those who stand

On mountain tops and serried steeps

Far from the sullied land below

Where Gaia in her sorrow weeps

The land below first sees the dawn

As misty shadows growing gray

And shadow-like the groundlings wake

To find their dreams are turned to day

Yet all is not to be forsaked

Unspoken words of mind and wind

Await arrival of the ship

To gather those who have not sinned