It’s nearly spring but there are still the tiniest scraps of snow in Bigby. I arrive in the evening just as night started to fall. I return again at 5:30 am the next day to be there for the break of dawn.
I only see Bigby in the half-light. I only see Bigby when my eyes are heavy with tiredness.
I wrote a tune in between my two visits in a nearby bed and breakfast. I think of light snow and black night.
I record Bigby with the oldest and newest technology. I leave an iPad in the graveyard taking time-lapse photos of the sun rising behind the church whilst I fumble with 120 film in an old plastic Diana camera. The film pops out and I lose photographs.
Bigby is old and new too with trim new-builds hidden behind the old houses. My photos are muted and ghostly when developed.