All season Emily spent sequestered in sorrow, emptying rapture from liquor bottle and stale cigarette. And now here the day passing on a road barren of signs. The winter sun terraformed her body. Pulling her memories up from her skin like flowers. Divorce. the loss of a job. The death of a child. Wrinkles on her face like ticks on a clock.
That morning she had abandoned her broken down Chevy at the motel and began the uncharted walk from the city and out into the country. The day passing empty of anything but a passing car. Not even the migrating birds noticed her presence. Looking up at the sun, vexed in contrails and clouds, she couldn’t help wonder if that distant throbbing warmth was what her heart felt to her unborn child.
Presence perpetual, a distant sun outside the womb, heart beat of blood and light, and inside his heart as still and silent as the moon.
I shot this the other day and asked the mystical, lyrical writer (and a co-contributor to TROUBLE IN THE HEARTLAND) Isaac Kirkman to write the caption to it.
© Mark V. Krajnak | JerseyStyle Photography | All Rights Reserved 2014