November 25th, 2007

laszlo moholy-nagy_chx


I'm not sure why the autumn deprives me of my attention, hogging it all to itself, and while the work is undone I stare at drifts of leaves, or those particular patches of sky where mere ghosts of clouds suggest sails, or at nothing at all that I can remember upon returning to myself. The day trails off, another drift of leaves, a not quite empty patch of sky.

Last night a fine overcast kept the shadows soft, but tonight it is clear again and the bright moon glares into the empty faces of the houses across the street. I feel as blank as they look. The hours taken, the vacant street I stare across.

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