two months without sun. you could imagine it can only make one feel safe to the point of claustrophilia, as if the sky turned into a ceiling of a cardboard box. instead, you wake up each morning, your skin at the verge of breaking from its longing for a single ray, the silence beating into it a certainty: there is a hole somewhere and it's leaking.
looking at this picture, it is not difficult to realize why i love st. Jacob in its all bits. this hole-feeted tree, doesn't it remind you of one redemptor once upon a time? woodcut stigmata. for me - pillars of the world.
there is a chasm yawning, wonder if i can seal it without my trees.
a tabernacle lacking the back wall. save yourself, little saviour. while they still are singing.
