Leaving
Peering into each room of THE SUN, I look for what I want to carry with me, travel clothes for the psyche to wear to the next chapter, where I don’t know a soul, have had no previews.
Who Dies?
If we examine our fear of death we see in it a fear of the moment to follow, over which we have no control. In it is a fear of impermanence itself, of the next unknown changing moment of life.
Save The Last Dance For Me
A woman in a gray hooded coat, with hands in her pockets, is actually dancing alone at the bus stop a block away. She is turning and twirling with herself, and now with me, and now with you.
Some Joke, Huh?
My brother is weird. I never know what he’s going to do next. Like the time he decides around three o’clock on an August afternoon that he’s going to climb the Franklin Mountains.
Scribe Of The Imperial Memory
It is typhoon season in Japan. The wind rips raveningly at the grass roofs and scatters bales of hay across the fields. It buries the land beneath torrents and pools and knocks down the drenched passersby as they strive for home.
Photographs By Paul Reynolds
The photographs are available as a PDF only. Click here to download.
