To me, this photo is about the lost connection to our childhoods. As we grow and mature, we often lose the magic we had as children that let us see the world for more than it is. Below is a prose to accompany the photo. SATELLITES We can walk to the moon. Don't give up, friends Your hope is all you need. Cash in your wishes and let's take a trip. So let's close our eyes and hand in our tickets. Drill holes in reality One by one tearing down the pieces that tether us to the ground. We'll all meet each other there. We'll ride the light, racing the sun. Far from gravity, far from reach. We can go anywhere with each other Just shout, at the top of your lungs, and that's the place we'll go next. We're each captains Spinning our fate like daddy long legs' webs. Do you remember them, from when we were kids? We went so many places made out of boxes. Swinging swords made from branches fighting evil every step of the way. Towels made us fly, although not very well. It didn't matter if we fell or that our hands got dirty. We can do it again. I'm pleading you to listen to me. I promise we haven't lost it, not for good anyways. It's still there, although buried deep. So lets find some boxes and raise these satellites to orbit. Dawn our sticks, tie our towels
