Grow, Grow

Every blade of grass has its angel that bends over it and whispers, 'Grow, grow.'
The Talmud


I have moved low the last couple of days, studying life at ground level.

I have rested the camera on the floor, capturing the intriguing reflections you see only when the chin touches the floor boards.

I have studied the surface of the water, seen how it mirrors the sky.

I have put on waterproof clothing and moved on a carpet of grass, listening out for angels.



I want to know what they whisper when autumn comes.