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Thanks for reading and responding to my poem! You are indeed correct, winter seems to me a slowing of time, a stillness in our lives. The visual for the poem was my dog, slowly moving around the frozen yard, crunching with every deliberate step in the stillness of twilight before the sun peaked. I watched him move around in this manner as I sat drinking coffee and waiting for the big orange ball to arrive.
I have researched some OCR tech, much of it is costly. I did figure out once how to transition a TIFF to PDF using a Google Drive to Google Docs method, but the output was so bad it was of no use. For any given project, I download the archive files, all of them being images and not documents, and then I make my way through each one, page by page, with the goal of determining what happened and why the documents were classified to begin with. It's a lot of fun for me, but it is very tedious work and it takes a long time to discover the story behind the document.
Thanks again for the interaction.
Your lines about grass in the winter speak to a quiet endurance and an underlying potential that waits for its moment to awaken. That image is powerful because it reminds us that stillness is not the end but a phase in a cycle. People lose momentum for many reasons yet there is often a season ahead where they can begin again. You seem to be seeking those seasons in both art and technology and that is an inspiring thing to witness. In terms of your archival work there are open source OCR tools that might serve you well. While they are not native to nostr yet they can bridge the gap until such solutions exist. What you are doing is more than migrating content it is cultivating a space where words memory and innovation meet.