Camou, drawstrings, heedless boys

An English dog is a silken little engine that can, if ever there were one. As is true for any dog, his roiling, fluent carriage affords an observer the experience of elation without bounds; and in his case, there is such churn-ing energy behind and exten-sion in the stride, that the flashing feathers of his marbled, spotted coat make an aqueously ravishing splash, in flagrant indulgence of native syncopation. But in repose, as any dog might, he can gather himself and deeply muddle these liquid attributes into a fair semblance of a dappled forest floor, or avian camou-flage. Only the glint in a bright, obsidian eye might give him away.

And then it would be too late, and he would want to play with you, or chase you to the guns.






















Mysthill's Geordie Auchinleck
Photo Laurent, Leica M-6
San Francisco, 1992


Anonymous recruit
Another country


Madeleine Peyroux
Careless Love