Oh, says the singing camera, it is night, and you must sleep, for tomorrow it is spring, and new film, planted in the camera, will crank through and grow into rows of images, corn under the sun of my glass lens. The spring is wound inside the camera. All is potential... sprouts on the branches, frames in the camera, and light in the particulate air.     This World could be made visible to us by the cinematographer who could see through the haze of our world to the darkness beyond.