This first snow-flecked afternoon I make a silent introduction to the Danube and Maria Valeria; stymied by life, numb with the weather and the weight of things built and destroyed and rebuilt. Only the act of removing my hand from its glove to hold the camera returns feeling. The tips of my fingers ache down the scale – past minus, past the stumps of language in all its guises to where we begin and begin again to bridge the gaps in our unknowing.
Do history’s trolls lurk below? Does their power lessen with each crossing?
Tomorrow I will add my own footfall, count steps between countries …