the first bird

There are summers when the heat quivers up from the ground and pierces my wide-brimmed hat. Summers almost without nights. During this season I love the dawn so much that I almost feel like it's granted to me as a reward. In the early morning, everything slumbers still in a primal blue.



Wandering alone at this hour I become aware of my own self, experienced with an inexpressible state of grace.



Often I return to the house just as the bell rings for the first Mass.

Photos by Nikka