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, December 27, 2006

. . .


I'll close the year with images from the backyards of my mother's and brother's homes where this morning I woke in the dark to roosters crowing outside my window and elsewhere in the distance. They crowed to each other, to themselves, in answer, in echo, insisting as reflections do that among them all, all that familiarity, is the source. The original. The one that started the whole thing in motion. In the first place.


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

[contact me:]

what o'clock it is


live flowers