Hello Planet Ubuntu.

This feels like I've just made it on stage with my favourite band.

Today I was accepted as an Ubuntu member through the Universe Contributors group. Thanks to all those that helped me achieve this. There's been a load of other people join this group recently. Hopefully this is a sign of things to come, and we're going to have some great releases coming up.

It's an interesting time to be joining planet, with yesterday's CC meeting discussing what role the planet should play in our community. I think that Emma had a good post touching on how we should conduct ourselves. (Hey Emma, when are you going to become a member so that more people see your insightful posts? And the animal ones too, I like those)

Emma refers to a poem by Robert Frost in her post, I had heard of it before, but I had never read it, so I hunted it out. I recommend reading it.

Mending Wall
Robert Frost (1874-1963)

SOMETHING there is that doesn't love a wall,
That sends the frozen-ground-swell under it,
And spills the upper boulders in the sun;
And makes gaps even two can pass abreast.
The work of hunters is another thing:
I have come after them and made repair
Where they have left not one stone on a stone,
But they would have the rabbit out of hiding,
To please the yelping dogs. The gaps I mean,
No one has seen them made or heard them made,
But at spring mending-time we find them there.
I let my neighbour know beyond the hill;
And on a day we meet to walk the line
And set the wall between us once again.
We keep the wall between us as we go.
To each the boulders that have fallen to each.
And some are loaves and some so nearly balls
We have to use a spell to make them balance:
"Stay where you are until our backs are turned!"
We wear our fingers rough with handling them.
Oh, just another kind of out-door game,
One on a side. It comes to little more:
There where it is we do not need the wall:
He is all pine and I am apple orchard.
My apple trees will never get across
And eat the cones under his pines, I tell him.
He only says, "Good fences make good neighbours."
Spring is the mischief in me, and I wonder
If I could put a notion in his head:
"Why do they make good neighbours? Isn't it
Where there are cows? But here there are no cows.
Before I built a wall I'd ask to know
What I was walling in or walling out,
And to whom I was like to give offence.
Something there is that doesn't love a wall,
That wants it down." I could say "Elves" to him,
But it's not elves exactly, and I'd rather
He said it for himself. I see him there
Bringing a stone grasped firmly by the top
In each hand, like an old-stone savage armed.
He moves in darkness as it seems to me,
Not of woods only and the shade of trees.
He will not go behind his father's saying
And he likes having thought of it so well
He says again, "Good fences make good neighbours."