This stone, which I photographed in my collapsible mini studio, is about three inches high and two inches wide at its widest point. I have had it for a long time and like it very much.
My mother told me that I was born between 3.30 and 4.00 in the morning and I have often wondered if that is why, when I am awake at that time, good ideas come into my mind. Last night it was a big idea, and this morning it still seems to be big. I am afraid that I cannot reveal its nature, though. Ideas can be like buds or parcels full of surprises and rich rewards. Or they can turn out to be fireworks, which rocket into the sky and go pop without any of the hoped for extravagance. This particular idea, which seems at the moment to be pulsating with life and promise, could still turn out to be a dud firework. So, chiefly to avoid anti-climax, silence must prevail on the subject, but its presence remains for the time being a beautiful thing to treasure and to work on.
I bend over to photograph a leaf, shiny with rain water, and pressed flat onto the pavement. A man passes and skirts me with an expression on his face of profound suspicion.