Brocken Inaglory, "Fog Shadow on Golden Gate Bridge," 2006.
I’ve been chasing light for ages. That gold-edged blue just before the sun shimmied up? It slipped through my fingers like a hatchling minnow. I’ve waited in the shadows of a thunderhead to ravel out fat skeins of crepuscular rays, only to come home empty-handed; the light’s just too fast for me, for anyone, really. (Once, though, I found if I walked slower than my shadow could move, light might press up behind me, kiss and silhouette me.)