The air is trying to breathe
Morning is tangled.
I wanted to capture in some way the knowingness of wisteria. Hints in its name. Wistful hysteria. A social climber climbing when your back is turned. How in bloom it can’t resist the camera’s eye, yet won’t be caught: both amorphous and self-aware. Hanging around old houses; of the age, the East. In May’s green rain looking in at me, knowing that I’m home. Sucking the air, upwards.