Threads

I love the way the spiders' webs all across the grass are illuminated by later afternoon sun.

I continue, reverse Ariadne, following the threads into the labyrinth.

An oak tree I had not previously met called me. This tree's stem divides into three at about my head height, but two of those branches are fused together at their base. Does it, then, split into two or three? Or is it always one?

I asked the tree, who said, "Am I one, am I two, am I three, am I many? Maybe I am all." Numbers are a human thing; trees think in relationships.

The bark was interesting. Three burrs in the first picture and a wound below them, Then the tree's red mark and close ups of the bottom of the three burrs.

I sat for a while and felt deeply consoled by the tree. I don't know why. I think it's that freedom from definition that the refusal to address number expressed. And that sense of existing in the mixture rather than either in an amalgam or a diffusion.

More and more I feel agreement with that Emanuele Coccia that knowledge is immanent in matter. Not just knowledge... creativity. The seed holds the knowledge of the plant's creation. It's all there.