Blur

A splash of green. This strange light. On some days it's a mystery which things to laugh at first: The certainty, or the conviction. Other days it is clearly a gray line, a shaken lens. These are historic events, but what events are not historic? Four days in the sun, four days without water, four days without food and swamped in an uncertain mob of grandmothers and drug dealers. What the hell can one person do this far away? Only one or two people can do what is needed and they seem set to dawdle. In Maynard, this mulberry tree (Morus alba) catches the streetlight on a September evening, its chlorophyl reflects the light into the lens of my digital camera. I upload that data to this server, which you have logged onto and downloaded to your screen. What a path we travel these modern days, instantly connected by representations of representations, each referring to something else in kind. The mulberry is a naturalized tree from China, whose flowers attracted silkworms. These are industrial trees, gone native. I can hear a buzzing insect all through the day, it emits a high frequency, high pitched rattle. Very loud in short bursts after which it rests for a time. Others like it in the distance. This time of year the bird song is less and there are louder buzzsaws. This weekend marks the official end of summer here in the United States. Labor Day weekend. An extra day. As if.

George Bush has caused a humanitarian tragedy. New Orleans residents cannot be left to die. The light reflected on this mulberry tree knows it better than you or I.