February

The beginning of the month: nothing to write; begin again. But begin from what? Write about the yard. Write about the flat. Write about W. But only that the beginning will catch, and post give unto post continuously each morning, as day follows day. It is like the secret engine – time – that turns the finished day into a new one. The work of time: the page of the sky as it grows dark. And on the new page, it begins again, darkness becoming light. Why did our ancestors pray that the sun rise each morning? Not because they believed it would not, but because it rose.