through a hole in the fence

an abandoned lot in downtown victoria

~

and from the book I'm reading ("the archivist" by martha cooley):
"reading is like trying to intercept a butterfly. It comes so close you can see its markings, the luminous wings, and then as you extend a hand, it's gone...there's pleasure in this approximation...and even in the failure to apprehend."

and a t.s. eliot line from the same book:
"where the grey light meets the green air"