I don't leave my head, but it seems you are on a mountain with just your camera. You climbed it without a crew, or safety gear. Your mother didn't know. I ask myself if the other side of the street would be safer, better lit. I wonder if it's worth the extra turn of the block to see what really happens there. Then I find you are under the ocean with a turtle, deciding if his foot is okay, or if the jewels on the bottom are real. Sometimes I'll stand before the pesto chicken, thinking, each day I have grilled, and when it's my turn I give the same words in the same order; an alphabet of lunch. I heard you just climbed a tree to taste the native fruit, then sliced it into thin strips with some meat cured by centuries of one family. I would picture that in my head, too, if there were room.
Photo credit: picture is of Courtney Luing …taken by Olivia Isbell
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