Who made the world? 
Who made the swan, and the black bear? 
Who made the grasshopper? 
This grasshopper, I mean-- 

the one who has flung herself out of the grass, 
the one who is eating sugar out of my hand, 
who is moving her jaws back and forth instead of up and down-- 
who is gazing around with her enormous and complicated eyes. 

Now she lifts her pale forearms and thoroughly washes her face. 
Now she snaps her wings open, and floats away. 
I don't know exactly what a prayer is. 
I do know how to pay attention, how to fall down 

into the grass, how to kneel down in the grass, 
how to be idle and blessed, how to stroll through the fields, 
which is what I have been doing all day. 
Tell me, what else should I have done? 
Doesn't everything die at last, and too soon? 

Tell me, what is it you plan to do 
with your one wild and precious life? 

Mary Oliver, 1990

I want paper
Hands and
kisses
Staring - hair
brushed back
Lost are these ways
hidden is our
friendship
Emerge.

undo. 

Working a lot of long days lately.  Surviving on scattered sleep and coffee.  Hard to get out of bed sometimes.  Like escaping a warm dungeon.  Happy.

I am currently trying to put all those pieces back together. For me, that means filmmaking – which is brutal, discouraging, and the best thing in the world.

 -Gregory Collins