The constrained attention of a photo-a-day habit – when it really is fine not to add an interpretation of the moment. To point – and let it be. And let the words come when they will. When in a quiet moment, the dragon decides to move through.
These days are in-between the old year and the new year – the death of last year’s foliage and the rebirth of the flowers. And since most days are white, I do think of shrouds – in that abstract way that I can – never having touched a shroud – breathing through all this white on afternoon runs.
But some days, the sky opens like a deep blue throat, both ominous and promising.
Like a collapsed bridge to a jump-off point.