4.23pm. I’ve been digging for about an hour, as the rain increased the light decreased. I’ve found what I think must have been concrete steps leading from the higher to lower level. Probably because of this having been a pretty permanent structure (until now) the nettle roots are some of the most impervious I’ve come across, they had woven themselves through a wire basket that had been buried there causing it to become at one with them, passively losing its original meaning.
This morning I was reading an essay about language and meaning, I feel rather like the wire basket when I read about semiotics, the concepts seem to tangle up my thoughts rather than liberating them. So, frustrated and slightly cabin-crazy from being in the house most of the day I decided to dig the remaining daylight hours. I intend to persist in the reading of philosophy alongside my allotment processes to discover whether one may begin to throw light on the other and vice versa.
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1 comment:
well it may start off as a tangle but the nettles are still there aren't they?
Sometimes I get the better of them when I move something big that the roots have got under, and get rewarded by an enormous bunch of red and yellow nettle roots yards long - very satisfying!
Now whats the semiotics of that?
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