Inhalations. Exhalations. Soft sighs.
When was the night sky first gazed upon in silent contemplation, recognized as the custodian of some ageless hidden profundity? For all the brilliance we acquire in observing the celestial bodies, true wisdom resides in the bulky black between them. These midnight provinces whisper only hints of their depths, permanently cloaking their extent behind a veil of obscurity. Yet we peer into the clockwork of it all, infinitesimal beings atop a meager sphere racing through an incomprehensible cosmos, forever hoping to grasp its truths.
Rick Henry's Snow Fleas deliberates upon the reverie of one such observer as sunset gives way to nightfall and the natural world prepares its shaded symphony. Spare thoughts weave through pauses in our silent protagonist's breaths, just as subtle murmurings and imperceptible pricks of light slowly accumulate to compose the spectacle of twilight.
44 pages, handmade and numbered