In the space before dreaming fear
cannot find me. I lean open-palmed into the darkness, and snap pictures
with my lids – bursts of black thrown against the light. Everything I make in the space before dreaming is
right. Because only my heart is
there to judge. Every image, a husked memory, woven tight. Nothing less. Nothing
more. Captured not because it
needed to be beautiful but because it is part of a story meant to be told.
In the space before dreaming, I knit my worries wings and push them thru the
cracked sill over my head. Their
escape leaves me empty, and whole.
Here, every beat and sound and sob and shout can find it’s way through
the finest needle hole of my heart.
They fit without splitting me open, printing images on the underside of my soul. In the space before dreaming, I am immune to the noise. I am a wide open window, within a
tightly clamped safe. I make no
mistakes. I define
imperfection. I take pictures
with no mercy.
So very honored to join a lovely group of
photographers, sharing a monthly post on “What ____ looks like.” Please continue the blog circle to
drink in the amazing, amazing work of Lindsey Bergstrom. You will not be disappointed.
