Mineral cactai, quicksilver lizards in the adobe walls, the bird that punctures space, thirst, tedium, clouds of dust, impalpable epiphanies of wind. The pines taught me to talk to myself. In that garden I learnedto send myself off. Later there were no gardens.
Sooner rather than later, any other form other than digital media will be a thing of the past. It won't vanish, but let's face it, this is seemingly the way of the future.