She
is a condensed version
of trees swaying
in summer winds.
Her smile
calms tempests, and soothes the rains
for she walks in sunlight
and as evening draws near,
her eyes soften.

“Understand me.
I’m not like an ordinary world.
I have my madness,
I live in another dimension
and I do not have time for things
that have no soul.”
― Bukowski (or perhaps not)
A solitary quiet moment in 2015 in granny’s kitchen when she’s shuffled off to the bathroom. A respite and yet always a premonition of the emptiness of her kitchen without her in it. Sister post to “yellow roses // to love, and to remember” (January 2015).
One raw night of wildcamping in the forests around “die Haard”.
I remember with lucid certainty that several people walked by down the path at night while I was tossing and turning in my tent trying to sleep, but I am also quite sure that they were on the way to a kind of ball-like birthday party in an old ruin lit by fires, so…
I know I know, my obsession with having the sun as an element in my pictures is getting out of hand, but I can’t help it. For now.