As I walk in the wild of the marshland, I break off a piece of decaying reed and crumble it, noticing my fingers in the act. Now do I no longer seek to be deceived.
I see the sunset of my being, but do I know its sunrise. Not then, not when, but now. One following the other and the other following the one, are they not the same.
As I found my sense of life taken to ground, this collection of photos and words point to my landing.
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