cardboard box world

I've been unpacking this week. Squeezing the contents of boxes and bags into my new apartment.

A couple of days ago, I was weary and sat down. One box lay empty on its side on the table before me, except for some styrofoam peanuts, a receipt or two, some curly shredded packing paper. I rested my head leaning toward and slightly into the brown, cardboard box. The noise in my ears went quiet. I'd entered a mysterious place. Light leaked into the box in a thin line where the two flaps on the bottom were taped but did not quite meet. It was like a high window in a large dim room. The pink and white and pale green peanuts, wavy and crinkled, took on faces of light and shadow. Some were like people, and some like birds and dogs and other animals. The dangling strands of paper and crumpled tape created a landscape.

My cell phone was near and I spent a couple of minutes photographing this mysterious little world. Then, I turned the box to face a window in the apartment where the sunlight was shining and took a photo. The interior of the box was now well lit, and the strange little world disappeared.