Photographs are: Mount Marathon as seen from below. The sweep of glacial silts in Turnagain Arm. Goats, tides, peaks rising like thought. More beyond. Seward and Resurrection Bay. And just sweep, you know, sweep. The photographs all stitched together, stories compiled. Days spent. Barbaric introspection. Towns inhabited by hands. Faces liquid, trailing after voices that, once the party is over, cease.
Rain falls all across this world, diluting coffee in the cup. Wet feet and bones. I stand amidst. Breathing. You do too. The world without inhibitions, slaving by your window. I’d suggest Up. Up. Away….
