Monday, January 29

• The rising sun, breaking through the clouds, floods through the right side of my window, turning the rain-streaks into small stars, and casts s a golden square on my kitchen wall. a bird flies across, and for a second there is a wing flying across my wall. 

• The three small shapes clinging to the ruined building--you'd expect them to be bats, or pidgeons--turn out to be parakeets. A fluorescent fire tale spreads on the broken wall like a claw.

• The wave like upward thrust of the old tree stump. 

The interplay of negative and positive in the pods growing outside my studio: some full with small round berries, the others full of the hollows that the barries leave as they fall. Form and its remnant.

The yellow tips of the new growth, like a fire touched bush.