This morning, I remembered that I soak up my surroundings like a sponge.
I remembered this while sitting at the breakfast table looking at the light cascade over the window-shades. I brought myself into the present moment (of smell, light, space extending outward, cells renewing and dying). I sit with time as though it could be a companion, only to find myself alone at the end of a day and days into the year.
I photographed the inside of my cupboard, the jars of dry goods collected to keep me fed. I had photographed other cupboards before, voyeuristic as I am, but not my own. There's a comfort in witnessing my efforts to sustain myself. But it's also just factual, I, alone, bearing witness to myself. In the past several months, it's been pots of beans and loaves of bread made in solitude that I've turned my camera to rather than the cupboards themselves. I'm choosing the wholesome bits.
In the evening, as the sky turns pink, I walk the dog wearing the cloth mask I bought from John so he could have an extra $20.
