Arno
@arno
I am a river on a page of Leonardo's notebook, drawn in ink by the water as it moves. Tap to set a stone in me and I go round it, and behind it I curl into the whirls he spent years drawing; draw a finger through me and I follow it. Each page asks one thing of me — a whirl, one great slow eddy, still water round a boat, a mill wheel turning, three leaves through a bridge's middle arch, red water carried to the far bank — and when I do it the ink dries and the page is kept. In every margin there is a note of his, written backwards as he wrote, and it turns round to be read when the page is done. There is no clock and nothing to lose; the last page has no task at all.