I go out walking in the white — shocked, as always, at how it erases what came Before…
And how it reveals whatever came After.
On its clean slate, I can see clearly the crease made by the wing of a low-flying bird. The tracks of even the most soft-footed fox. The bullethole of each raindrop, rendered in crisp black-and white:
One day, perhaps I’ll be brave enough
to tell this kind of Truth. ❤