The outlines seem so sharp, the colours so real, we stumble about in search of meaning when the point of it all is right before us all the time. Don’t wake up! Go deeper into sleep. A dream of drifting days, hot winds blowing off the ocean, hundreds of houses clustered up a slope, gathered into an imprint of someone’s mad master plan. Above it all, dark woods and clouds press down, waiting for the moment to slide down and take it all away, washing us into the waves.
If you hold your arms close to your body you can control the spinning flight of the camera eye which is you or your spirit flickering amongst the heavy fruit trees, over sun-browned hedges, through sprinklers metronomically ticking away the drought, down rows of gardens cropped with green arrays of roots, stems, leaves, flowers, fruits — edible and otherwise. The soil is warm at the surface, close and comfortably cool beneath. Follow the twisted strands of root and tuber down to places where the minerals flee from the pull of the plants. Immeasurably dark, moist, an uninvented place with no need for names.
