See?

What doesn't show in this picture is the set of words on the paper behind the flower. These words are before me as I try to write:

As I photograph with my little Leica, I have the feeling that there is something so right about it: with the one eye that is closed one looks within. With the other eye that is open one looks without: one sees the shapes, the living quality of what moves one to photograph. Without passion, without working with the emotion of the heart and the enjoyment of the eye, nothing vital can be put down.

Bless you, Henri Cartier-Bresson.

* * *

At the head of a book chapter I read today, I found a past reader's pencilled note: "Chef seasoning--the broccoli some do not care for." I have no idea what that means, or even whether I think it's wonderful. I mean, it's a wonder, to be sure--but that's not always a good thing.

* * *

Plagiarism is never a good thing. But at least sometimes it's a funny thing.

* * *

For me, the pleasure does not lie in the synthesis, the production. The pleasure lies in the gathering, the amassment, the accretion. The detail. The pile-up. Drawing up one more version of a seven-year-old set of ideas makes me realize, once again, how long I seem to be taking to make this thing happen, and how much every airing of it now makes me feel a bit belated.