showy growling
sow glowy things

I want to stop for a moment and stay with an imperceptable movement. There are things growing slowly all around us, with a mantis-like fixation.
Who captures the intersections of what it takes to make something so inveterate it can produce a tree, mold spores, a bog, a life? Each one a culmination of connexon, one part light, one part water, one part hidden, one part more hidden than that, and they all descant.
Tiny growing parts and shapes take on a structure in my mind's eye.
Today in traffic, I imagined a spider weaving her web by a stream, a saturated trickle filling my ears, my nose, my eyes. She was nearly soundless, and this gave me such a peace.
There is an eerie, perfect silence out there, further away all the time, as reticent as granite or the stars, but salient nonetheless.
I hope to capture it in the ways I know how. I have a friend who can do so with math. I am the scientist, my words tiny little glass beakers with bits of earth and water inside.
It can be done in any medium, any language. In movement, a dancer who waits for the last bit of room in a beat to move.
If you hear that wordless, private place of slowly growing things, translate.
Open your refrigerator and inspect the old food. That place is there, just as the stags are crossing the river to the north of your house.
Hunt for the machinery inside the biotic fecundity in any place you can find. A forest floor, a fingerprint, a water ring.