Taking pictures, being a photographer, whichever comes first? Peddling a ten-speed through the limbering trees.

Experimenting with light—always light—can’t do much in the dark. Besides: wink, hide, have nightmares, make mistakes, reproduce, and tend my ghost.

For me, the artistic eye sees what it sees. Assuming I have one, right? A brown eye that combs through the trash for artifacts. Hoping to see Van Gogh’s spirit glimmering schizophrenically off the jags of a beer bottle.

I’m ready… I’m harmless now. My ten-speed and me. Camera aimed. I got something good—a spiderweb.

I hike my bike by the cemetery’s gate. “Look at this Grandma.” I say over a tombstone, but say it anyway and show her—been a minute. SEE. She always had a dark-side.

I wander around and get interested in wind vanes and lightning rods.

Christopher J Ananias