My ode to the stunning season finale of Hannibal.
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Photography
Excerpts from my oeuvre as a photographer.
The warmth of the daytime seemed like a dream now.
Embracing the skies.
Silently waiting for its occupants to return home.
Those innocent drops of rain falling from the sky never know the thousand ways in which they may shine.
It’s bad. We’re hit, man, We are hit.
Broken shards. Shattered dreams.
Closing in around the light like it would be dark forever after.
Cloud-hidden, whereabouts unknown.
The paths we choose are indicative of the choices we make.
The green fields that dot the landscape near New Delhi.
This moment will not pass until you let it.
Memories long gone.
Where is my home?
