From my bed I can see tiny leaves pushing out from the stem of a begonia on the windowsill. Last night there were a few small swellings and this morning there are whole tiny begonias. They have pushed through the smooth skin of the plant like blind pimples that, when squeezed, secrete a miniature replica of the person bearing the blemish. This isn’t a particularly nice way to consider something that I am really quite happy about but there is an element of horror in witnessing a thing squeeze itself out of another thing. I saw a horse being born once in the very early morning and my feeling about it was not dissimilar. The thin tiny horse was bluish when it fell out onto the grass and glistening in the morning light. It walked almost instantly.