The Prints, Still Leaning

October 28th. Twenty-three days. I counted this morning, which is probably more information than the prints deserve, but there it is.

They have been leaning against the kitchen wall since I brought them home from the framing shop printmaking night, and every morning I look at them and think: today is probably the day I figure out where they go. Then I pour the coffee. Then I sit at the table. Then I look at them from this angle, in this light, and the deciding doesn't happen, and somehow that feels less like failure every time.

facing the window

The low October sun has started finding them in the mornings, the same late-afternoon side light that named itself as my preferred direction back in 2014, except now it is arriving in the early hours, raking across both prints at an angle I did not plan. The one on the left catches it differently than the one on the right. I wrote a draft-folder sentence about that last week and then left it where it was.

coffee going cold, prints still leaning

I think the not-placing might be the answer. I think I knew that when I wrote about the named gap on the windowsill, and I knew it when I wrote about the Portland tab, and I know it now in a way that does not require me to do anything about it before the coffee gets cold. The prints are in the apartment. The light is finding them. Some mornings that is enough information.