The English language can be celebrated in so many ways, and by so many means, but one of its marvelous images is uppermost in my mind at present. I cannot but sing it praises anew, and with renewed gusto. The grapevine. Or the informal network by which information is spread far and wide, often in ways difficult to fathom. And under circumstances hard to imagine. The grapevine. Sinuous, lithe, winding, twisting, warped, supple, meandering, gnarled, crooked, snaking… The image is stupendous, indeed. The most surprising bit is that it flowers in the information age, too. When everything is out in the open, when nothing has a chance of remaining hidden for long, the grapevine functions best. It flourishes. It bears juicy fruit for everyone to pick. It spreads its roots and branches to every nook and cranny no matter how remote. The grapevine. The very essence of the human mind. Nay, the mind itself.