a handful of dust, megan's vision

What are the roots that clutch, what branches grow
out of this stony rubbish? Son of man,
you cannot say, or guess, for you know only
a heap of broken images, where the sun beats,
and the dead tree gives no shelter, the cricket no relief,
and the dry stone no sound of water. Only
there is shadow under this red rock,
(come in under the shadow of this red rock),
and I will show you something different from either
your shadow at morning striding behind you
or your shadow at evening rising to meet you;
I will show you fear in a handful of dust.

- T.S. Eliot, The Waste Land (Book 1: The Burial of the Dead, lines 19-30)


Sometimes, when I look at images, I "see" something I'm curious about - a different crop, details that could be emphasized in different ways, different coloration - and David is kind enough to bring them to life.

I asked him if he would mind showing me

with all of the background land cropped out, but for a sliver of cracked earth beneath my feet.

One original image, two collaborators, two different, but equally treasured, visions.
Thank you so much, dear friend, for indulging me.


taken by *dwingephotography, 3.08.2012