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Those moments, remembered, fiddling around, with sticks and stones, with words, written, gathered, becoming something to hold onto, a sentence, seen, a story, said, a manifest consciousness. These ways of articulation that one begins to care about for oneself, and sometimes begins to share with others, to play with others. One never knows the way of ones words. Conversing has unknown consequences, not unlike play.

This perception of play in our everyday lives.
An awareness. Rippling. This presence of play. In our shadows. Waiting to be found. Under a stone. Under ground. Underneath, mulched, over time, decayed, our ground. A twig, to poke around, never quite knowing how things may sound.

I finished a 2006 Flickr book yesterday and sent it off to Apple to be printed. And have started the 2007 Flickr book.

I do one page at a time, between 20-100 pages. I think I did nine pages yesterday. I do the book on and off though the day, sometimes lingering over one page for five or ten minutes.

I use Apple Photos 'Simple' book, the smallest. One picture to a page. Sometimes text underneath the picture or on the opposite page. I also make a PDF of the book when it's finished. The book PDF takes a minute to make.

In making the Flickr books I have my Flickr page open, and use that to download one picture at a time, I then do a search for the original on my hard disk. I sometimes just use the picture from Flickr in the book if I can't find the original photo.

Oh, I've been splurging on. My hotel hour is nearly over. I'll probably walk back via the shops to get some milk and coffee beans. Back home, probably have coffee and croissant with Jude. And to think of the day as play, a lightness of being. A perception of presence through play.

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