I tried in vain to retrieve the piece of wood I cut a few months back. It is now more tightly wedged than ever, despite (or because of) my best efforts with a long improvised lever. Down again in the broadleaf woodland by the back road, tired, I stumbled upon a hefty chunk of oak, remnant of chainsaw harvesting, and, walking around the block, wondered if this might do.
Now, as I take advantage of a stretch of free days, I wonder why I don`t have a chainsaw, because hacking out lumps of wood to get at any shape is very time-consuming. But a girl on a horse is emerging, slowly. I think of Marino Marini`s horses and riders, of Marc Chagall`s dream paintings, and of my daughter.
 |
| Marc Chagall |
