Writing, like photography, is stationary. It proceeds by adding one thing to another, which coalesce into a sudden image, which has nothing to do with words or photons, but with the light of the mind. It’s amazing enough to find a late season bee scarcely bigger than the tiny, 3 mm mustard flowers at the tips of stalks already gone to seed.
But then, if you stay a little longer, you see it dipping half of its body into the flower, to drink the tiniest drop of nectar.
That work of the body recognizing the body lights up the mind. It requires duration, and then surprise, and then it’s all there at once, in a little exclamation of “Ah!”
Ah, indeed.
