an airplane, a train, and a café on a rainy afternoon and a warm saturday morning. a tree house and a lighthouse. magicians and disappearing acts, smoke and clouds and fog. movement is distracting; it twirls and spirals and comes and goes. it jumps around and never stays in the same place. it blossoms with joy and slices with a knife. these are the stories of people and their movement. they are ordinary, but they traverse timelines and dimensions with ease. and, just like movement, as soon as you lose track of them, you will miss something.