hundreds + thousands
|Copyright Terms: The contents of this web site are protected under Canadian and International copyright law. No reproduction is permitted without contacting the artist. Please respect this work by not copying or printing any portions of it in any form without express written permission.|
|poetry in the landscape / writing on leaves / numbered leaves / words on leaves / words and landscape/
numbering every leaf on a tree /
surrey art gallery bc canada
I’ve begun the phrases. In the wet woods by the stream, on a translucent vine maple leaf: “green rain." On an osier dogwood: “Did you see?” My imagination inflates them, the words seem blatant, enormous, obtrusive as flashing neon lights. It feels transgressive, almost illegal, as if I’m writing in a library book, scrawling graffiti in a public place.
Reality check: the words so small, written cautiously
on the leaf, scarcely noticeable, something to find by accident,
if found at all. Something there, seen but unseen.
I write one more line on a salmonberry leaf, then stop. The woodland leaves are still so fresh that they’ll bruise if I handle them, they’re all sap and succulence, newborn.
May 16th. The pond.
There’s an ornamental pond in the gardens. I hang over the railings, hoping to see something. There’s Elodea, algae.
Dead leaves. Melge. There’s got to be tadpoles. Nothing.
Water striders, a diving beetle. Then I see a tadpole. I knew it, there had to be tadpoles. Then two more. Four. Five, six, seven.
I go over to the low bank on the sunny side. Stuck on the pondweed like round fruit are dozens of tadpoles. I count a hundred in two square yards.
I like it here. The more you look, the more you see. A clutching motion in the mud: a caddisfly larva in its tiny sand tube.
Live slivers of carrot, all less than 2 centimeters long.
A dozen. Two dozen. Three. Brand new goldfish, nervous, bunching, so small they’d all be comfortable in a cup.
Red-osier dogwood petals float on the water.