I spend the morning wanting to photograph fountains, wanting to photograph light and water and air. easier, too, to turn this into something beautiful, the way rubbish fades over time to pink and yellow, lodges sodden and waterlogged in streambed mud. how we might focus on this fountain, this spider hanging by a thread, these fruit trees and vineyards and pines, from the ridgeline to the salt wedge, this moment’s divide. and in the moment we ignore everything outside the frame, pesticides in the water, workers picking grapes and strawberries by hand, subsidies that go to the wealthiest agribusinesses, our complicity in this arrangement.