Feathers float in darkness…
All eyes are blind,
All ears are shut.
The flaming hand destroys them.
With ashes white,
Like snow, but hot,
He paints himself. 46 more words
One of the blessings/curses/double-edged-swords of being a photographer is that you can’t look at anything without turning it into a photograph in your head. Part of the reason I love having my phone and its camera with me all the time is that I can turn things into photographs not-in-my-head as well. 70 more words