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, June 21, 2008

Tucson, Arizona


Rose at 4:45, escaping one nine year-old heel digging into my back and the edge of the bed left to me for the same desert path I used to complain about. Ran the loop though I'm in no condition to run it. Left at 5:15 and the sun rose while I thought about the impossibility of running and of how far I must go to become even a little more loving. The first mile is always about beating your head clear. After that, something almost tender remains, and you can use it to look around and to see things plainly for the hour or so before it hardens again. By six I'd returned to the dark house full of sleepers. Before they woke with the television and the cats, I could nearly hear you.


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

[contact me:]

what o'clock it is


live flowers