an image diary

"And if he left off dreaming about you, where do you suppose you'd be? ... You'd be nowhere. Why, you're only a sort of thing in his dream! If that there King was to wake you'd go out -- bang! -- just like a candle!"

"Hush! You'll be waking him, I'm afraid, if you make so much noise."

"Well it's no use your talking about waking him when you're only one of the things in his dream. You know very well you're not real."

Saturday, November 4, 2006

. . . . . .

A thin layer of melting snow on the porch roof my windows look over, all but water and glittering ice and a mist rolling off the surface in the sun. So many brilliant reflections from the wet walks and ice lining the trees, I see only silouhuettes against the glare from where I sit with the sun hitting my face throught the high panes of my window.


Unplugging now and going to C's house for the rest of the weekend. The cell won't work, the wireless won't work. I won't be here, I'm guessing, until Sunday night or Monday morning when I will have read a book or two. That's the plan. And I'm going for a run as soon as I get there because it's so beautiful. The sky here is like nothing on earth--and we desert people have amazing sky.


"and what is the use of a book...without pictures or conversations?"

[contact me:]

what o'clock it is


live flowers