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."

Wednesday, November 8, 2006

. . .

Woke to the great mystery of trees in fog, so breathtakingly beautiful I felt the need to be out in it, wandering. So I put on shoes and went for a run and thought, now why don't I do this every morning, which what one's head always says while one is running very very slowly, walking actually, or sauntering with a warm cloud for one's breath below the crows who fill the trees with the sounds of their wings and are dark shadows lifing in the mist in a terrible rush.


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

[contact me:]

what o'clock it is


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