This afternoon, all my senses were absorbed in a conversation with a dear friend over the telephone, when my left foot felt the gentle tickle of something beneath it. My eyes spontaneously closed shut, as I felt the spirit of my blind grandmother awaken inside of me. In the silent darkness before me, my foot momentarily suspended in the air like a crane in slumber, I tried to imagine what caresses at my feet? The delicate wisps of carbon from a burnt paper scroll or a wooden log? A fragile wing of a large, dead moth ? Or was it a leaf, half dead and half alive.

Soon after, my eyes lit open to see extraordinary pieces of ART everywhere. They lay silently strewn upon the expanse of an ordinary, one foot by one foot square, earthen hued, tiled floor held together in a dull grey cement grid. The artists: Lichen, Moss, Black ants with pale lime-green, rounded bottoms, tiny grains of Sand, a sprinting ashladen Spider! All of these artists seem terribly busy inside an unpredictable, silent, inward randomness that leaves me awed !