yesterday's tulips on the stalls near the bus stop. the women sell them in paper cones the colour of old newspaper.i bought a bunch for my grandmother and she put them in a jug with a crack. "flowers like cracked things," she said.
"some days the mountains are enough." — written on the wall of the bus stop by the bridge. somebody wrote it in black marker in winter and nobody has painted over it.
the new year from the ninth floor. fireworks over the avenue and a cat on the balcony rail looking at them with contempt.things i learned in 2011: how to post from a bus. how to wait for the light. how to say "no" to a seminar on international relations. how not to cry in the corridor of the faculty.
happy new year, whoever you are. the tea is hot.
grandmother's red tablecloth. she said "why are you photographing the cups, photograph me". next time, apa.
grandmother's tree in the village. the last leaf was holding on with both hands.she said: you have photographed that tree since you were nine. what is new? i said: nothing. that's why.