Snapshot
Photographs. We freeze a blurred instant in the razor-quick click-clack of a shutter, and in that same instant, that world dissolves away into a strange, grey-tasting haze of memory. If time is white powder sand poured through a fine sieve, photographs are the debris lodged in the netting, stoically resisting the outpour. They are the irregular reminders of a time that grows as unreachable, by the second, as a lucid horizon.