Elwha Bridge, April 2011
I’m in the throes of an incontinent drizzle of work, a over muscled sphincter pinching out pictures blot by blot as frustrations pink the temples. Even writing has become bloodless; a clot-less rheum evaporating at the usual orifices.
Maybe ‘throes’ isn’t the proper term; it gives the impression of something endured- an active, dramatic struggle. The truth is I’m just hiding- averting my eyes from photography, writing, and most of my usual vents. Maybe just the plural is wrong…I might be in a throe. A throe trying to get my attention, to see if I’ll ever actively participate. Meanwhile I’ll squeeze out another picture. By no means fresh, but appropriately contracted.