baron in the trees, 2017
“That mesh of leaves and twigs of fork and froth, minute and endless,
with the sky glimpsed only in sudden specks and splinters, perhaps it
was only there so that my brother could pass through it with his
tomtit’s tread, was embroidered on nothing, like this thread of ink
which I have let run on for page after page, swarming with
cancellations, corrections, doodles, blots and gaps, bursting at times
into clear big berries, coagulating at others into piles of tiny starry
seeds, then twisting away, forking off, surrounding buds of phrases with
frameworks of leaves and clouds, then interweaving again, and so
running on and on and on until it splutters and bursts into a last
senseless cluster of words, ideas, dreams, and so ends.”
-Italo Calvino, The Baron in the Trees