The rain starts. Each drop is piercing hot grey water as a needle. Steam is rising up. Fish – one, two, three – jumping up into the air, twist, fall back. They all squeak. Life and dreams are interwoven into a piece of cloth. The God`s dusty blanket.
I take pictures. Some pictures are good, but most of them aren`t. Good one is like enter into a burrow – a threshold between here – real, physical – and there – a rabbit`s hole into the dark nowhere. Never achievable, always seducing, disturbing. I keep walking. Winter is passing by. Things are what they are. Now.

All images ©Anna Block