Refuge, November 2020
Letter from Glasgow: LYING LOW
There is a gale outside, blowing the last birch leaves down the street. From the window I see myself below, in the middle of the road — which has become a flat winter field with yellow leaves flying. I take refuge in a ditch, hunkered down, out of the wind. The ditch runs straight across the field. I dug this ditch to keep me warm and hidden. I’ll pause here. I am sad but I am calm and that’s the main thing. And out of the wind. I watch the leaves fly past, chased by the wind. I may stay here for some time.
Horizon (first lap)
The hand-held panning shot is a risky one, as one is bound to trip over a root, or speed up or slow down as one tries to steadily revolve like a lighthouse shining a beacon for ships passing by through dangerous waters.