Photos are not worth a thousand words. They are not transferable to a lower art. Photos are the product of the hunt. The reflections of the self caught encased in light.
The bird who knows the iron cage has found a path to treachery.
Yet the fox who feeds the hunger need can find freedom in pieces through the bars.
As I attempt to ponder freedom. I keep feeling constrained. The limits on my thoughts are responsible for the machine I have become.
