Filtered light, filtered sight…

The day began with compromised breathing, teased into panic.  

Panic always requires a listed review:

  1.  use past lessons learned such as  “Red Morn”  
  2. check time of day (is it red night delight or red morn warn?)
  3. look in the mirror and find humour

This time the humour is found in the mirror. Humour located sporting red checkered pyjamas, wool cap, and camera, all of which conjure a Loony Tune memory.  Elmer Fudd is apparently in drag, in that very mirror….and s/he is saying “shhh…be vewwy vewwy qwiet”!

Humour and checklists aside, something beautiful filtered into consciousness.  It began with a mind fog rolling. It then played, hauntingly, with the same frayed synapses that cause panic.  Those synapses were simply ends of broken hair springing in search of their destination. Their curl, turned in humidity, was the fog of panic…never to be tamed or redefined.  That curl could only be accepted, exactly as it is. Once accepted, the curled ends could locate their respective destinations. It is in this acceptance that play was found, arriving on the tails of windblown snow seen in the filtered images below.

The ice in the water forcibly cracked and the colt came near, brought simply by the curiosity of youth.  The colt did not even know it was youth that allowed a fearless pause to take a long drink, a long needed drink. The light danced and the exposure found a ghosted past. The past was coming back, bleached and vivid. This time the past was crisp as it revealed itself in the developer.  How much of the story would reveal this time?  The past had potential for a cool refresh, instead of the haunted habits of the past. The synapses are healing, taking a long needed drink of fresh water, letting fear pass unobstructed….


Fog was found and beauty documented.

That beauty found more play as the images developed.  The images found subtle inferences through each filter.  The camera filters. We filter. We place preconceived notions in our values, our beliefs and even in our eyes.  Each filter is both a choice and a story.  Look at Baby’s eye and ask what each filter allows you to see.  Does the chrome filter bring fear in the red inking the white of the eye?  Does the noir look different from the tonal?  Know yourself and understand how you frame your images, your life.  PTSD forces freedom from preconceived notions, in order to find life.  It is not comfortable, but the filters are removed.

The gift of red morn is unfiltered sight.

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