Rain-diamonds, this winter morning, embellish the tangle of unpruned pear-tree twigs; each solitaire, placed, it appears, with considered judgement, bears the light beneath the rifted clouds - the invisible shared out in endless abundance.

Very few people really see things unless they've had someone in early life who made them look at things. And name them too. But the looking is primary, the focus.

Rain-diamonds, this winter morning, embellish the tangle of unpruned pear-tree twigs; each solitaire, placed, it appears, with considered judgement, bears the light beneath the rifted clouds - the invisible shared out in endless abundance.

Nothing we do has the quickness, the sureness, the deep intelligence living at peace would have.

In city, in suburb, in forest, no way to stretch out the arms - so if you would grow, go straight up or deep down.

But for us the road unfurls itself, we don't stop walking, we know there is far to go.

In certain ways writing is a form of prayer.