Ephemeralist

Harry Everett Smith collected was paper airplanes — he picked up hundreds of them from the streets and buildings of New York between 1961 and 1983.

How again after months there is awe. The most personal moment of the day appears unannounced. People wear leather. People refuse to die. There are strangers who look like they could know your name. And the smell of a bar on a cold night, or the sound of traffic as it follows you home. Sirens. Parties. How balconies hold us. Whatever enough is, it hasn’t arrived. And on some dead afternoon when you’ll likely forget this, as you browse through the vintage again and again—there it is, what everyone’s given up just to stay here. Jewelled hairpins, scratched records, their fast youth. Everything they’ve given up to stay here and find more.

Every photo in this series gives me the feels. I mostly hate winter in North America, but also it’s magic. It’s hard to believe that in less than half a year these scenes will be sticky and humid with heat. 

(via Ephemeral edible: gingerbread monolith appears on San Francisco hilltop, then collapses | San Francisco | The Guardian)

Hope.