The kitchen lights hung red it and glowing, as if I sat in the glare of two taillights, always reminding me of what was receding. The cars where tired lovers leave you perched on the empty front steps steeped in the red light of a departure, until they turn a corner and the swollen dark consumes you. And you turn keys into ever blacker halls that blind you, until you flick on the red glowing lights and sit. Silence crawls through me and settles in my mind as I bathe in the glow of the burning goodbye that burns me to ash when the light fades. And I sit. No matter how bright the day had been, the nights are always dark, no light from your sun to guide me; only a sliver of moon peeking out from behind the solid distance between us. In the hum of the taillights I can still hear your laughter. Like liquor dancing through my veins, like wildflowers, wildfires, live wires. Infecting me with the electricity of the sound, scraping mortar into the cracks where I broke down under the impossible...
A collection of photos and phrases, a walk through the forested mind of a witchy-woman.