The late winter afternoon sun sets the back of a billboard aflame. Chattering grackles perch along the top, bombing the unsuspecting pedestrians below with ammonia-laden droppings. The blazing brown surfaces seduce my photographer’s eye, and almost immediately I’m standing beneath it, firing my camera as fast as it can recycle its processor, noting the clouds passing overhead, obscuring the sun’s bold effort to beam.
I spin, swoop and dip, pirouetting behind the camera and struggling to keep up with the spectacle hulking above me. A piece of a Ferris wheel? A chunk of the space shuttle? Glorious abstractions free for the taking, and it seems as though no one in the world but me has ever examined it. I burst out cackling at my own bent and twisted vision.