I’VE BEEN WALKING, THE LATE NIGHTS, THE EARLY SHIFTS.
SOME AIR, IN EITHER — BOTH FROSTED IN THE MORNING — CHILLED, THE WIND AND RAIN AS DAY FALLS.
I went out walking late, Vancouver. That night, the rains came, then they turned to mist, and finally ice — snow gathered. I could see it in the water coursing, like cotton in the street channels. But it was snow, the ice a patterning of small plates that collide and drift like tiny scraps of hardened, translucent paper — the asphalt, black pebbling, glistening.
Looking out — down the long boulevards — the yellowish light creates mists of granular clouds, the roll up of the lengthy strides, spheres emerge like blooms down the walk. And that goes up the hill, heading south to the border.
That sentiment reaches the long night, and the deep dark — from the closing of the day; and the beginning of the next one. The mist, it’s like the wrapping of the dim light fading, the other beginning — it’s the softening of the sheer brilliance of the day, that is now quieted. So in the rounding of the sharpness of the day, then there is the gauze, that softening of what lies in the opening of the deep time. Mist, the fog of unbecoming — the times of the transition — there is the movement from the one to the other.
Tender, that time.
Walking into the mist, the dream, the memory of the day, and the recollection of that turning anew.
Tim | Vancouver, British Columbia
GIRVIN | BUILDING BRANDSTORIES
EXPERIENCE DESIGN | THE STRATEGY OF MEMORY