J e f f   S t r e e b y


Picture This: 

Grief—the uncomfortable furniture of devotion 
to rearrange. 

The kind of blue-tinged light that often comes with a winter moon. A few interposing clouds to offer dramatic sky-borne chiaroscuro. 
 
Down here the counterpoint—snow that gives it back in silver, shadows that draw it in and keep it. Effects a good photographer might approach in filtered black and white. 
 
Out of nowhere, your father announces to you that by summer he will be dead. 
 
Then he calmly gets in the pickup and pulls out onto the gravel road, heading for home. 
 
I stand in the cold for half an hour watching his lights disappear into the plains. 





















Weldon H. Sandusky
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