Rooftops of Croatia

Old town in Zagreb. I took the train to the wrong "old town." Instead of changing trains as soon as I saw I was going in an unplanned direction -- not towards galleries and parks and cafes in squares, instead towards a bleak and pale outline of a dilapidated city -- I went there anyways.

I walked along sewers and discarded scowls and rubbed my feet against mile after mile of concrete. The sky was grey, the terrain lifeless. I stayed longer than comfortable until I became a version of comfort. I walked under many overpasses to find a store and when I got there, I decided to return whatever smile was offered to me. There was none offered. It might be the first time I have not smiled at a stranger that has served me and not felt either guilty or hurt. It was my first look at the country.

I took no photos on this particular walk and I will regret this always. Eventually, I took the train in the other direction and wound up where it was busy and there were trees that were alive and people who nodded. And I felt okay to take my camera out and take this picture. And while this old town was no less real than the other grey city, it was a little less in its truth, and for that, a little less in its purpose.

A chair, alone

On a walk to Kostrena I passed this chair. It faced a cramped fishing harbour with nets piled high; at an angle just right to host a weathered hand and a cigar and yelling at loved ones across the narrow harbour.

Cats lay by the edge of the sea on the breakers; basking hot and baring their stomachs to the air. The longer I watched the rock breaker, the more kittens I saw crawl out of the shade between the large boulders. What strange behaviour. My cats steer clear when I shower let alone when swells wash high and salty spray loosens into the air.

And then this chair. Solitary, pushed right up to a wall so passersby could fit along the narrow ledge between the wall and the ocean. What person sits here in this chair of flaking paint and do they sit there often. I made sure to walk back to my apartment the exact same way I came and even then, hours later, this chair looked more a monument than a seat.

The double pink

My neighbourhood is suddenly, and once again, filled with cherry blossoms. As it gets warmer, the air lightens. More than just scent; the air requires less work to move through. My midnight walks with the dogs begin to again become a treat of syrupy breeze and soft sounds. Below, the green shoots poke themselves out of the winter dirt and at this early season, I think this is feat enough. And then I look up and realize the trees have blossomed.

These particular blossoms are from a line of three trees on a heritage property one street away from my apartment. Even the remaining Christmas reindeer and deflated santas on front lawns are easier to ignore with fresh things opening themselves to the light.

I do love me some graffiti

I wish I felt better about photographing graffiti. It feels like replicating another persons work in a medium that serves it poorly and holding it out to an audience and saying, "look, look what I did!" when in reality it's nothing about what the photographer did and all about what the hand with the paint and the patterns of rain and consistency of sun and peeling of paint did. But I take home in my camera bits of city walls regardless. So I have stored in my head and on my hard drive bits of concrete, wood, and brick sprayed/splashed with paint and coated in decals. I've walked the alleys of Manhattan, Toronto, Montreal, and Rijeka looking sideways and never ahead. This wall is found on Granville Island in Vancouver.

The decrepit niceties of rust and algae

I was on my way somewhere, with someone at my side, and became transfixed with a wall.