by photographer david black
remember the days we'd chase after the sun ? we'd fly through the grass like birds longing for home. the bouquets of wildflowers you'd pick for me were always the best. if i looked hard enough, i could probably find a few petals strewn in my old room, under my bed, by the window sill. it had a great view of the sun.
i don't know anymore / what it's for / i'm not even sure / if there is anyone / who is in the sun
joseph arthur / in the sun