06AUG
There is a particular quality to light that has not yet decided what it is doing — not morning, not quite noon, hovering somewhere in between, and in that hovering I find myself standing very still with my hands doing nothing in particular. I held the coat closed at the sternum and felt the wool settle against the column of the dress underneath, and for a moment the cold of the concrete floor and the warmth of the bone fabric were the only two things in the world. I turned my face back toward the lens because I was curious what stillness looked like from the outside — and found it looked like exactly what I felt.
Mood: Luminous, unhurried, quietly luminous.