In winter, when there is wind, it comes up through the trees and brambles gone as dry and fragile as paper; it gathers itself, sighing and whispering, as if remembering secrets told to it, long ago. Maybe they are the secrets of insects, or shy, clumsy lovers, gasping or sighing as one hand (or another) finds unexpected and welcome flesh. And sometimes, the wind, coming up through trees and brambles gone as dry and fragile as paper will recall the onset of clouds—gathered—and the promise of thunder: a thing felt more than heard. There was wind today. Though warm, we live in the depths of winter. Snow will come. It lingers, like the promise of thunder. But it is not yet here. There is only wind: a sigh, a whisper, an echo—perhaps—of insect songs now silent. If clumsy lover touch, it is done indoors, where warmth breathes from the belly of a furnace, or crackles in the maw of a fireplace. Winter—even a tardy winter—is not a time for insect sounds and love-sighs…not outdoors, at least, and so we have only echoes to remind us of warmer times. * * * I took this photograph today. I’ve discovered a group of photographers in Chicago: they call themselves urban explorers. They’re guerilla-photographers, adept at shimmying through rips in fences and worming their ways into abandoned buildings. Some of them are night-time photographers, not-interested in trespass-in-the-name-of-art, and more than a few of them recognize Chicago’s Abbott Hotel. I took this photo because I’ve been inspired to attempt something. What, I don’t know. But it’s urban. It’s industrial. It’s up my alley but not exactly something I’ve done before. I think it has to do with seeing something, with attempting to capture what I habitually ignore. The brambles and the water-tower in the photo above are aspects of my daily experience. The water tower is an aspect of my childhood, as well. It stands on distinctly industrial ground, in a region of the city my cousins and I called Dead Man’s Gulch. It isn’t much of a gulch, so much as it’s grotty and a bit spooky at night. There are no dead men there. Oh well. I can see Dead Man’s Gulch from the truck yard that consumes my time, and because of both the truck yard and the advent of winter (such as it is) I have numerous reasons to ignore much of what I see around me. I decided not to ignore as much today, and this photograph is one of my attempts to simply point and shoot and worry about composition, implied narrative, and all of that stuff later. Well, later has come, and I’ve discovered that I actually like this picture. I like it well enough to post it, and so here it is. It’s not exactly urban, despite its out-of-frame location, and I’m sure that various urban explorers at home in the windy city might find themselves inordinately interested in trying to photograph this very tower… …from the inside. As always, thank you for viewing, reading, and commenting, and I hope you’re all in the midst of a great week.