i am working inside the house, i am cold but i know that the house is warm between the mild weather and the fire burning i can tell my core tempertaure is off i do not mind it since it keeps me moving. the light is also unusual as well and i should pick up the camera but for some reason i stare at it instead.
the last few days have been one of returning to home not so much the physical home but the one within me. i have done this by listening to a lot of music and reading some passages and also by taking an early morning walk or two but most of all by letting thoughts swirl and fall away more easily than i have been able to let go of them in the past. sometimes when i think of writing to you i want to list all my dreams, hopes and desires but lately i have realized what i want to do more than anything is describe the feelings i want to feel, like how one would describe the afternoon sun hitting a dusty window pane and the warm glow that comes from it or how the fog makes everything surreal as it's mist gently touches your face.
I am not numb, i say this because i think i must have been for a while, a long one even. yet i also have a feeling of being one of a blank canvas with only slight brushes strokes just waiting to take shape.
the other morning on my way to montreal i came across this valley right down below form my home, i stood there for a long while, then i shot, the images are not what i hoped them to be but the feeling remains.