Staring out into the wonderful night shoreline that Kingston is a proud home of.



Staring straight ahead at the lights. Some are ever-glowing, illuminating a small radius of rocks around them. Pathces of darkness engulf the lights from all directions. Some lights are of the lighthouse variety, flashing on and off. Their frequencies differed. As did their color, and because of the varying distances, so did their prominence. They seemed eerily right.

Staring up at the stars. A couple flashes of brilliance, but always incredibly breath-taking, and never fading.



Staring behind me at an enormous crane. From which a burden once hung.



Staring straight down at my feet hovering above pitch-dark waters. As if I were dangling my feet precariously over the edge of a cliff. The only certainty being the beam I was perched on. An inch forward would be an unforgiving and unnecessary belly-flop into pollution filled waters.

Why is it that when presented with such an unfailing path, that I continue to stray?