Line of Sight

Early morning, before the neighborhood stirred.

My attention moved slowly, following the light.

From the tree holding its shape against the sky,

to the grass covered just enough to soften its color,

to the concrete, catching small points of brightness near my feet.

Nothing stood apart.

The snow connected everything — not by covering it, but by responding to it.

Light rested differently on each surface,

revealing how the space was already arranged.

I stayed low for a moment,

letting my eyes travel the same path again.

Near to far.

Ground to edge.

Stillness to the sense of the day waiting just outside the frame.

The air was cold. The light steady.

Everything clear enough to see how it belonged together.

I took the photo and kept moving.

This is how the practice shows up — not separate from life, but inside it. A pause, a sensation, a return to motion.