Saturday, August 20, 2005
The lettuce and tomatoes are burgeoning in the greenhouse window of my writing studio. I love looking out at the world through a screen of green. Love too the way the morning glories bind it all together in their promiscuous reach. I don't plant seeds for harvest, although I am happy to eat whatever ripens in the three months I am here. No, rather, I plant to watch the invisible dance of the DNA, ceaselessly spinning, weaving, checking, correcting -- TGACTTCGACAA -- a dervish dance of constancy and variation that has over the course of 4 billion years covered the planet with a seemingly infinite variety of living things. A lettuce leaf is a scripture, a tomato a prophet. The tendrils of the morning glory a Te Deum.