Reading by Gingko Light, the story veers towards the reeds, where fish wait, having eaten all the green weed, thinking green thoughts. Time does not appear, but pulses off-stage, pretending it doesn’t exist.  Here ink acts differently to water colour, bleeds, dissolves, diffuses, fractalates moss-agate-esque, takes on an almost aurora of grain, mauve ink seperates into its components of blue and pink.  The gold Gingko stamp sees it all: the little stamp clouds nearly entirely obscured int the , all the blue-green haze, the reedy edges, the pine observer,, the eminence of light.