60349 at daybreak.

All cities have their edge places, areas of indifference, where life goes on outside the fovea of modernity. Daylight also has an edge, and when its sun comes to play across these fractured surfaces, it outlines contrasts and deepens shadows, the hiding places of the quotidian.

60324 road to ahlat.

As we set out on a road that takes us from the old citadel of

60322 tibetan lunch.

After our visit to the monastery of Tagong, we go into a restaurant run by a Tibetan family, where the owners pause their own family meal to prepare a dish of yak and greens for us. I peek into the kitchen to see what is going on. The cook seems to be using the exhaust from a jet engine in the service of stir-fry.

60311 the animal inside.

I am trying to gather what cannot be contained in a waveform. The memory of a thing is not solid. It lives under a tiny glass dome. Upon close examination, it begins to fade. It fades most quickly in the center of focus, a kind of inverse fovea, and it oozes out between our clutching fingers.

60303 wind in the leaves.

On a warm spring day overlooking the Qudyalçay, a river which severs the community of Mountain Jews of Quba from its Azeri neighbors, we gaze out across the valley, teaming with buzzing insects and birds, from under the shade of a billowing apple tree at the edge of the local Jewish cemetery.