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."

Sunday, January 21, 2007

. . . . . . .


Snow, a few inches fallen overnight, and Ryan's shovel grating on the front walk outside, and Donna next door with her ready broom sweeping her back stairs while still it comes down softly, almost invisible from here where I'm all the more convinced it is time to be quiet inside. Breakfast, then I'll read in the tub.


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

[contact me:]

what o'clock it is


live flowers