Irises and Dreams
The tomato plants are growing like weeds in the rain. This morning I walked in a dense, heavy mist. The robins were out. Some starlings. A towhee. Silence emanated from coy-hidden crows. Crow silence. Black-ink silence. The atmosphere, it seemed, was deep into the process of paper-making. A calligrapher’s dream. A mark here, a mark there, and thus a new language is born, and is off to test its wings. Redwoods make fine brushes, don’t you think? And irises? And dreams?
Recently Banned Literature, May 16, 2017
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