Life pulses through the parking lot.
Sometimes it conveys, along straight lines that converge, somewhere on the horizon, in one-point perspective.
Sometimes it resolves as gentle foothills, receding in the distance, reduced to simple contours, that diminish, as the atmosphere intervenes.
Then again, organic shapes too, assert themselves, often in lumpy little clusters of three.
But always, as light drapes itself over all surfaces, majestic and mundane, it can be simplified into five values. A monochrome spectrum.
If only everything in life were as simple, to be so rendered, as light resting on the surface, of every thing. And I see.
