Yesterday’ post featured a picture of Mt. Tam as a reflection in a window at sunset. Today’s picture is also a reflection, the mountain’s outline rising above night’s leftover fog etched lightly by the adept blade of morning’s sun. These images, twice removed from the source, so to speak, may be my way of trying to distance myself, if not from the mountain itself, a least form this project that is winding down.
There are risks to be had, at least for memory, in the fluffed cushions of distance. So much can get lost in the folds. I was taking a nap this afternoon, remembering a scene, almost like an actual photo. Bright sunlight washing a wide city avenue clear of all taint of shadows. A street in a city I can’t tell if I saw in the country of my childhood or only in one of my dreams, long after I left that country and grew over childhood itself. But there is now, on the cusps of sleep, that immensely strong feeling that I have been there, that I have experienced the surgical wounds of such daylight, even if they had come to me under the darkest cover of night in a dream.
I’ll never know, of course, if that street rose only in my dreams or if I had walked along it feeling as lost and as confused as I am now as I try to find its coordinates, wherever they may intersect, be it somewhere in the actual topography of Europe or somewhere in uncharted and unchartable memory.