Tripod

16 June 1930. Yesterday afternoon I photographed some dandelions; there was a whole field of them, each one identical to the next. And the dandelions were so pleasant that in them I recognized my whole human life, which is just as ephemeral! I took many pictures, as if in anticipation of their imminent end. In the evening there was a whirlwind that raged all night. The next morning there was not a dandelion left. How good is it that I preserved them, otherwise I should have had to wait an entire year, and who knows? Would I have survived this long year myself?