Where the Light Offers No Cover

Standing at the edge of this municipal hush, she is held in the same pale wash as the walls. The air around her feels fractionally tighter, as though the geometry has begun to close. The ground keeps the memory of footsteps that are not hers. Nothing moves, and yet the stillness is not benign. It measures. The car park waits without narrative, but not without appetite. Nature pushes at the margins, unreal and indifferent to her breathing. Light is held back by temporary walls and settles in shallow pools, leaving her briefly unmoored — neither protected nor entirely seen. The afternoon hovers, metallic and watchful. In this weather, the ordinary acquires an edge.