The 5 of us went to San Francisco’s Pier 39 area to eat some crab and “ork ork” with the local sea lions. Afterwards, we walked out onto the docks where the volatile and frigid winds collided with the crying horns of sea tankers. All the senses are pummeled here. Max took hold of the cold metal railings and stood staring out towards the water. I could see he was in his own world, which he goes to often. I pulled out my camera and took several images. He didn’t even notice. I’m curious, and with the depth, unsettled. What comes to him… what leaves him?
This life, past life, Bardo, or just a kiddo lost to the wind.

The Eyes of Max Strange.
The Eyes of Max Strange.

 
  Sometimes I find Max sitting up in his crib at 4am, staring in the dark. When I find him like this, I like to sit with him and enjoy his company, or absence as it may be…