Something is trying to be born

Trees. Stones, Water and Light #2

September 3, 1979

Today was a good day. Made some pictures. 

 Something is trying to be born, to take shape, to grow. A tiny wisp of a beginning, but it's solid. Something I can trust.

I saw a science program on plants—a time-lapse sequence of a climbing pea plant. A tiny tendril moves in slow circles, blindly. When it touches a fence pole, it pauses, as if considering its options. Suddenly, the fragile thread loops several times, then begins to climb, sprouting new branches at regular intervals. It can't raise its leaves to the sun without something to hang on to, an anchor.

Clouds, you are my gods.

Wind, you are my lover.

Trees, you are my soul.


Who is the silent person sitting 

          beside me?

The chair moves, but I see no one.