It’s an instagram world: on a given morning where I live, I may be the only person awake and motivated enough to chance that pre-dawn black will catch fire before settling into slate ash before true sunrise.
Sometimes all I see is a dot of red light swaddled in gray, a counterpoint to dessicated berries on emptying branches which host only a few stolid seaside birds.
But with a soundless press of a finger to cool glass I can share each moment’s image with people in other parts of the world–still dreaming, winding down their workdays, daydreaming at mid-day, caught among countless joys and unfathomable sorrows.
The images are for eyes alone: you cannot hear the rustle of seagrass, or seagulls nattering, or a child’s giggle in the distance; you cannot feel the wind or taste the air; you cannot smell a hint of distant sulfur .
My “Just Now” is no one else’s, and no one else’s is truly accessible to me.