July 21, 2014 §
There’s a train bridge around the corner; night trains and the tired travellers carried over the bridge, the sound of their speedy dreams.
I often take photos of this bridge. It’s an old iron one. It’s become something like a chapel, at the halfway mark of a long pilgrimage.
In the photos the street underneath seems not a busy one, but it is. My game is waiting for the quiet moment.
The world outside, sometimes opaque…
… sometimes clear.