Snap a picture a minute, from the instant we open our eyes in the morning until we go to sleep. Calvino‘s words. And they’ve stuck.
Snap. A pigeon, wings fluttering, in her soft landing.
Snap. Powder blue Converse sneakers.
Snap. A leafless tree on 48th rising out of concrete.
Snap. A wind gust from a passing truck lifts a green ribbon, it floats, twists and lands – softly, gently.
Snap. The morning sun, luminous, warming.
Snap. Snap. Snap. Snap. Snap. Snap.
Billions of Snaps of Light, stored, restored in a snap.
The Scoreboard? Light: Billions Served. Non-Light: ~ 30.
And, yet, here they come. Continue reading “Walking Cross-Town. With Snaps.”
