Times in our life when we've felt close to dying, either through accident or not being able to face life. I ponder the thought for a moment as I sit with my open notebook, one page of writing from before coffee, the opposite page empty, as is my coffee cup now, I still have some water. One ceiling spotlight illuminates the page, at just the right angle for writing, in front of me a standard lamp, a slightly warmer light, a softer light, more like 3000° Kelvin. The ceiling light, I don't notice it directly, it's high above, like the sun, the other lamp is shielded by a shade, and I can look up at it, like a slightly clouded sun late or early in the day.
The Trash Can Sinatras play through my AirPods as I walked earlier, 'Just leave it behind, a great weight lifting'. I look back and see some clouds strangely illuminated, I figure it's the moon, I don't see the moon.
I figure kindness is just a feeling, not directed, not aimed for, it feels better being kind than to be happy. Another song comes to mind; a photo movie, in the city, the Eurythmics.
I've been photographing my weightlifting on and off over the last month or so. I can't explain, The Who. Something about the little things I keep, things to hold, that I can lift, things I hold onto without knowing why, or not wanting to explain. I'll keep photographing. I probably could explain, but that explanation wouldn't be why.