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."

Thursday, February 1, 2007

. . . .


Snow flurries, steam venting from the house, twenty degrees feels like ten, and this the warmest part of our coming week. Saturday seven feels like negative four, Monday two feels like negative nine, and the wind is still kicking around at 10 to 25 mph making every room drafty and every outdoor excursion from here to the car regrettable. No really I thought my twelve winters had prepared me for winter. I'm doing all the things I've done before, wearing thermals, sweaters and boots, a down jacket beneath my big wool coat and still. I have a dream.


Meanwhile, not that it much interests you, but three weeks after getting back to the gym in a fairly serious way and yes fatigue is setting in. The good fatigue. The kind that brings sleep and forgettable dreams. I'm late getting up today. I'm okay with that.




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

[contact me:]

what o'clock it is


live flowers