Choosing my words carefully.
Looking backwards through the camera lens, I am seeing things with a clarity I have never had before. It is not right and I do not know it the way we know about space and history and God, but it is a shifting, radiant fluidity that is every shape it takes and more.
So: If you take in a bird with a broken wing, and you try to fix it, and it dies in your care...is it your fault? Is its death on your conscience? You bury it in the backyard, maybe, in a shoebox, or you throw it away for the garbage truck to deal with. God help you if you leave it for the beasts; God help you if you come upon its tattered carcass later, feathers swathed across your lawn and its neck twisted helplessly.
So: If you take in a bird with a broken wing, and you try to fix it, and it dies in your care...is it your fault? Is its death on your conscience? You bury it in the backyard, maybe, in a shoebox, or you throw it away for the garbage truck to deal with. God help you if you leave it for the beasts; God help you if you come upon its tattered carcass later, feathers swathed across your lawn and its neck twisted helplessly.