A trace upon the soil

The photograph bears upon itself the marks and traces of the world. Often, we look at a photograph and pass over these traces, imagining we have reached the world itself. Yet sometimes, we fail. To my eyes this image is one such failur.

Upon soil, a little green but mostly dry, lies a blue covering — perhaps a sleeping bag. A glimmer of light strikes the earth. The camera lowers its gaze. The gleams of light seem to invite us toward the sky yet that murky blue keeps our eyes bound to the ground. Suspended between earth and sky, we cannot discern what lies beneath that blue covering — or who. Is there a person under it, or not? If not, then what is there? What does that crumpled fabric signify? The traces lead nowhere — neither the flashes of light, nor the crumpled cloth, nor the thin black tube, nor that wide yet soiled blue. That blue does not lift us to the heavens, nor does it drown us within itself. It merely covers — so that we may not see.