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ALCO (American Locomotive Company), 1917.
EstaciĂłn del Ferrocarril de Ceuta. Ceuta Train Station
Zeiss Distagon T* 1.4/35 ZM
Outside the DOM, she moved through the crowd as if the city had slowed for her alone. The wind caught her hair, the sun traced her shoulder, and in that instant—before the next step—Cologne felt hushed, held in the grace of passing light.
142 Columns
Monumento a las vĂctimas de AlmerĂa del campo de concentraciĂłn de Mauthausen.
Memorial to the AlmerĂa victims of the Mauthausen concentration camp
Along the railing at Victoria Harbor, the world behind her shimmered like silence disturbed.
She raised her hands—not in surrender, not in despair—
but in the small, wordless gestures we make when trying to hold ourselves together,
if only for a moment longer.
Sometimes the beauty isn’t in composure,
but in the honesty of almost letting go.
They sat beneath the weight of old stone and iron, six modern lives in quiet pause — friends, travelers, daughters of another time. Most looked elsewhere, absorbed in the moment’s drift, but one leaned her head and met my gaze. In that fleeting glance, Venice felt both ancient and alive again — the echo of youth against centuries of silence.
She stood half within herself—one face drawn into thought, the other cast upon the glass. Between them, a thin plane of reflection held what words could not: the pause between motion and meaning, the quiet fracture between being and appearing.
The street behind her moved with its usual purpose—cold air, hurrying feet, a city indifferent to the inward turn. Yet here, time seemed to slow. The cigarette burned like a clock, each exhale dissolving into breath and light. Her reflection looked away, as if unwilling to meet her own gaze.
Perhaps we all live with such doubling—the self the world receives, and the one that lingers just behind the surface. The one that speaks, and the one that listens. We learn to carry both: the calm mask and the restless truth, the smoke that rises and the silence that remains.
In that fleeting stillness, she was both solid and spectral—present yet retreating, grounded yet elsewhere. The other side of stillness is not motion but recognition: that even in our quietest moments, we are never wholly alone.
Another example of the "hellhole" Chicago going up in flames.
Chicago, IL
2025
© James Rice, All Rights Reserved
it was a calm night at plaça mercat in palma, and as i sat at the restaurant, this sweet dog at the next table caught my eye. he sat peacefully with his owner, and in one quiet moment, he laid his head gently on the table. the scene felt serene, and i couldn't resist capturing it. even in the midst of the night, this dog created a moment of stillness amidst the city's energy.