Traces no.17

Camphor wood, pigment

While tracing fleeting things out of the corner of the eye, there are moments when I find myself holding my breath.
Even as we share the same timeline, the world seems to move just slightly ahead.
The wings I once chased in childhood brought with them a brief shimmer of light.

When points eventually form a line, those scattered glimmers become a single trajectory, quietly connecting to this place.

Honami Konishi