Since being invited to take a foray into black and white, I’ve happened upon scenes which translate well–metaphorically–into the absence of color.
There has been no unifying theme, but it occurs to me that three were taken looking down at the earth beneath my feet. Two–one of a tentative spring bird, and this shot of billowing pure white beyond black steel twisted into a colony of perpetually flying birds–aimed up at the heavens. Only one, though sunlit, was taken indoors.
The five pictures were taken in three different states. None was taken at my own eye level. Although two were taken downtown in heavily populated cities, not a human is in sight.
I don’t want to read too much into this, and today marks an anniversary prone to plummet me into not necessarily productive solitary musings, but I sometimes wonder why my vantage point so effectively seals me off, even in a city of millions.
“And out on the street, there are so many possibilities to not be alone. . . .” And yet I am.
It can be empty out there, even when the streets are filled.
Love in the Spaces 
You are never alone my dear. We are with you, if not by your side physically, we are there in spirit. Love the black and white photos.
“To be different is to be alone. To be alone is to be different.” The author of those lines escapes me, but it is the zone that I enter when I am doing B&W photography. I am like a fly on a wall, an untethered balloon drifting on unseen currents of air.
Your B&W photos have been lovely. I hope that you are able to continue in that medium as you feel fit to do so. I have found that Color photography enhances life, while B&W strips it down to a minimum. Ω
Alone is not bad. It is. We are alone in our thoughts, in our transitions, even though others go through thinking and transitioning, too. Sharing is a half-way point, an interesting intersection. Thanks for sharing your voice and your vision, Stephanie!