Meanwhile, China has quarantined a city of eleven million people with more cities to follow.
I remember smoking a cigarette in the subzero wind while watching the lights of freighters on the horizon. I thought we were at the edge of the earth.
I was shaken by Helene Schjerfbeck’s self-portraits at the Finnish National Gallery.
Whenever I come across Goethe’s maxim that architecture is frozen music, Helsinki is what I see.
Looking at the sky tonight, I think about the philosophers who believed the stars were rational creatures and the sun could sing.
Alone in Helsinki. The sky is pure gloom with rain that hangs in the air, refusing to fall.
The idea cohered on the train somewhere between Turku and Helsinki: take a photograph and write at least three sentences every day.
I try to imagine what I would have thought if someone had described the decade to come while we watched Obama wave from his motorcade.
