November 14 2008

Text By Greg Fallis

There are days when the light leaves reluctantly, when it wraps its stubborn fingers in limb and leaf and refuses to let go. And in the mute moment of distraction between twilight and nightfall we can convince ourselves we see, briefly, a less concrete world. A dream-crossed landscape, quiet as a Quaker, perceptible but intangible, only marginally related to the world we walk in.

At least that's what I tell myself. I want to believe that moment truly exists. I want to live in a world where that moment exists. It is, I suppose, a romantic notion derived from reading too many novels, watching too many movies, listening to too many poems read aloud by earnest women in bed after too many glasses of wine. But surely, just because an idea is romantic that doesn't mean it can't be true. It might be true. And yet even as I say that, I hear the whispered voice of Jake Barnes: "Isn't it pretty to think so?"

Too many novels. But look...just look at this. Look at this, and then tell me that moment doesn't exist.