25
The door swings shut and I plunge into the darkness. I lose the raucous conversations in a December wind that lends purpose to my stride. The slivered moon blinks between the passing structures, fixed in the sky by more than the usual stubbornness of parallax, as if it slipped its orbit tonight to keep me company. I don’t mind.
The cold air reminds me that I have lungs. It reminds me that I bought a heavily-discounted jacket off the returns rack at REI designed by some genius who theorized that goose down could be adequately replaced by shredded water bottles. I expect the geese will upgrade any day now. More importantly I have lungs again. I hold my first breath in until I can’t anymore and the rush of depleted air sweeps all my remaining apprehension into the infinity above.
The moon and I walk on.
I turned 25 this week! Here’s the last year, in photos.
Fuji rises over Yamanakako
The city of Osaka has talented designers in their sewage department.
and another friend prepare for battlesunny mornings in Tepoztlán
and the accompanying café de olla (I drew that!)
The Califonia coast
where I found some long-lost family
A reminder in Brooklyn
The Flatirons rise out of the plains of Colorado
Mud towers in Utah
The pristine upper reaches of Shasta, around 13900’
Return of the redwoods after a fire
Mt. Agassiz (13893’) from the top of Bishop Pass (12500’)
and finally the moon, which has watched over me this whole time