SOMETIMES, I find that Los Angeles is most beautiful on overcast, dreary mornings.
The way the soft light spills onto white bed sheets, and leaves dark grey questions in its shadows. Imprints and questions.
My favorite thing to do on late mornings, (which in reality are all too rare), is slowly, absentmindedly looking through magazines.
The grainy-er the texture of the paper, the better.
This magazine I'm reading is Union Mag, a Japanese magazine that just might be the epitome of the term 'ethereal' . Every photo is one that I would call "moods" or "moments" or something equally vague but special in my head.
This photo essay I'm looking at is called:
"As I pass by I hear a tiny voice at my feet. It comes from a dandelion. I might have missed it if I hadn't been careful.
Dandelions always talk about how hard it is to live in such a world.
I know they are not popular like roses or daisies, but I prefer to live like dandelion flowers."
Have a lovely Sunday