Working

I've been working.  I've been playing with some of the images I captured on Fall River Road last Monday.  Shadows and twigs...   bullet holes and rust.  These reflect how I'm feeling in a most pointed way.

I've created a life full of holes.  Perhaps in expressing them...  I can fill them.

There is an indigo rust that has crept in.  It isn't laziness...  it is depression of an idle sort.  It is lethargy and ice.  I wonder, sometimes, if this is how it feels to die in a mountain blizzard.  You read so often that, before one freezes to death, a person begins to feel comfortable and calm in spite of the cold.  Laughing in the face of death.  Not a loud, hysterical laugh, but a cool, low rumble.

Feeling warm at thirty below.  Growing content...  perhaps complacent...   with the sadness and anxiety that you alone have created.

Crying because there is something satisfying in seeing your mascara run.