It was a late night doing paperwork. And then I looked over in the corner at the pile of discarded paper in a pile. I filled in a questionnaire tonight about what being a "green" company meant and then there was this pile of paper being tossed. Of course within that there's this natural beauty that results simply as an aside to what's happening in a context. It's a reduction of elements, an abstraction of months of work, an artifact of a going concern. It's proof. It will be swept away or discarded, I mean, it can't sit delicately in a pile at the bottom of the stairs for too long, and that's fine. "Proof" seems to always be temporary.
I think I'll take a picture of my boots tomorrow.
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