Moving Pictures

I had a dream that I was back here, in this street in Riga, at this very scene, as if this frame of film animated itself before me. The running man grabbed his daughter and ran after his escaping dog. I flew overhead above the street and learned about the man in the distance. He was a Japanese cellist who had come to Riga to open a restaurant. I followed him walking through the old town and pressed my face up against the window out from the snowy street, fogging a circle as I watched him play and sing to his patrons. As I turned around, I saw the runaway dog which, now as I returned to the original position of the photograph, had revised its way into the frame of the shot.

It seems to have run off once again.