The Black Flower.

 
Stay­ing home dur­ing a win­ter storm doesn’t mean I have to stop shooting.

The Black Flower. www.eduardoangel.com

The dawn that she feared might never come would appear on sched­ule, just as it always had — and after it another, and another. And yes­ter­day would become last month, then last win­ter, then last year, then two and five and ten years ago, and one day the peo­ple would have to stop and think before they could say how long ago it was .”

Howard Bahr, The Black Flower