Between the Lines

One street, one year, a hundred different skies. The ordinary made strange by attention.

In about a little more than a year, from the same place, the winter, the early spring skies, a deep teal-to-orange sunset, a flat grey overcast of a winter morning, a soft peach dusk, a wet almost monochrome, rain-slicked asphalt, an extraordinary pink-violet sky, blue hour from the balcony, and yesterday’s stormy night.