Three days on an island with one bus
The timetable fits on a postcard. I missed the bus twice, and both times the walk was better than the ride would have been.
Read the noteI walk, I look, I write a little. This is where the film rolls and the notebook pages end up — mostly coastlines, empty stations and towns that close at six.
The timetable fits on a postcard. I missed the bus twice, and both times the walk was better than the ride would have been.
Read the noteLate summer evenings, and the colour that only lasts eleven minutes.
The platform clock still runs. Nobody seems to know who winds it.
Twelve frames, one roll, and a light leak I've grown fond of.
Nothing here is urgent. That's rather the point. — from the notebook, winter