Iterations: Blue 1120 ink and watercolor on paper
Everything turns icy, and I can start to see forms take shape in my breath. Floating up to the sky in whirling winding wisps, fully formed for only an instant and then just gone. Faded, dissipated and disappeared. There is nothing there.
I imagine my breath solid and persistent. There in front of me, some kind of my of my lungs writ out and made solid. Blues and greens, cold air and life. As solid and real as any other part of me, but escaped like a ghost with a series of cogs that connect it to the world.