When I think of the word ghost, I usually think, scary story. Like the around the campfire at a campout kind of story.
like a whisper
my hand plants in yours
I keep playing with this image. It’s like poetry. I’ve written and published bit of poetry and was asked once how you know when a poem is finished. I said a poem is finished when its beat you to death and there’s no more left for you to put into it. Some photographs are the […]