Previous Photo: Ruins at the Carter Caves Beach Next Photo: Tulips in the kitchen
February 14, 2013

I'm a jumpy reader, always switching back and forth between books.  One of the current titles is Orlando by Virginia Woolf that was published in 1928.  I love the writing style, I can hear her talking much like what happens when I read Wendell Berry.  The sentences are long and, in my mind, they read quickly with a hushed voice that ends slightly breathless.  Very interesting.   The only problem is that I can't escape the mental picture of her wading into a cold river.  Woolf ended her life by filling her coat pockets with stone and walking into a river near her home during a wintery March.  This is an Iphone Hipstamatic shot with a few touchups in post (mainly a color gradient, contrast adjustments, and some clarity and brightness changes in the vignette).

 "Each has his past shut in him like the leaves
of a book known to him by his heart, and his
friends can only read the title."

Virginia Woolf