contact prints on printing-out paper from vintage glass plate negatives of Solar Eclipse from the collection of The Lick Observatory
1893-1910, prints made 1977-1996
When it rains in France the windows get cold and I roll up old shirts to put against the leaks. The false spring brings the chill and my room is bleak in the dark, toes are cold, fingers are holding tightly the book I’ve been reading all day. When it gets like this the birds still sing so I sit beside the radiator with my sweaters layers and a blanket. The birds sing so loud, even in the dark, when the lamps are lit and no one is on the street when the fountain dies out. The rooftop drippings collect under my window and easily form a small puddle-all day the rain mists and drifts from near nothing to plump droplets. But together the rain and the birds and the silent streets that are like small tunnels when the city empties are all signs of a well earned rest.