⚒️ VSCO (06, +3) + Lightroom (watermark only).
entry thirteen — scattered light, fractured grace: a quiet archive of light, loss, and what remains.
There is a moment every single day when golden hour gives way to blue hour. In that moment, the world pauses between heartbeats.
The warmth of the sun hasn’t fully left, but it’s fading, slipping behind the horizon while the cool hues of twilight begin to take hold. For a few fleeting minutes, everything softens. The light is neither day nor night; it’s an in-between realm where time seems to hold its breath.
Shadows stretch. The air shifts. The gold turns to amber, then to lavender, then to blue, a slow dissolving of one truth into another. It’s the day’s last whisper and the night’s first sigh, a moment that belongs to no one and everyone at once.
Most people miss it. But for those who are still and detached from the noise of the world enough to notice, it feels like standing at the seam of two worlds – the visible and the unseen – the known and the infinite, as light gently hands the sky over to darkness.
If I were still as attached to the idea of controlled outcomes as I used to be, I’d still not know it exists… much less recognize it and be aware enough to take it’s photo as it occurs.
This is the product – nay, the gift – of mindfulness. 🧘
Detachment is not that you own nothing.
Detachment is that nothing owns you.
—Bhagavad Gita 2.47
catacosmosis // 2025
catacosmosis 