The Windowsill

The Zone's native art form is the accidental still life: objects left on surfaces in 1986 and rearranged since only by frost and gravity. On one windowsill, small things I chose not to inventory, framed by broken panes and the white outside.

I stood at the window a while, looking out at what a resident would have seen minus thirty-five years of trees. The composition needed no photographer, only a witness with cold hands.

I shot the whole day like this, slow and quiet. Color felt gaudy against all that stopped time, but the frames wanted honesty more than mood, so color stayed. The debate continued on the bus home and remains unresolved.