Since moving back, I’ve noticed that the people have disappeared from my pictures. The processions, the congregations, the portraits are settled in my archive beside the architecture of churches and parking garages.
The past month’s novelty of taking snow pictures has been ebbing with each accumulation. But this was a blizzard, so I feel obliged to walk along the border of the village again.
I need to stay vigilant, walking on frozen slush along the side of the road. An occasional driver either looks right past me or turns to look directly at me through their window as they pass.
A very long time ago I played a video game at home. My avatar would float through different pixelated landscapes. When I reached a certain level, I would be in a place called ELSEWHERE.
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