Winter is nearly gone now, though the cold lingers, a faint sharpness in the air, and the city seems to carry its own kind of chill, distant and reserved. I’ve been careful, I suppose, in keeping myself apart, a little different from others, though I hardly notice how it happens—how my eyes catch the small, strange things that slip through the cracks of the everyday. This evening, the sun hung low, its light broken by a thick seam of clouds, and it felt almost unreal, like something from a film—perhaps that black hole in Interstellar, silent and immense. I reached for my camera, quickly, as if I could trap it, that fleeting moment when the world seemed to pause and whisper something I couldn’t quite grasp.