tanso.day
a quiet devotion to carbon -- every day, every breath.
morning
The kettle whispers. Steam rises — H2O carrying traces of caffeine, of theobromine, of the long chains of lipid that bloom on the surface of milk. Every molecule in your first cup carries a ring, a chain, a tetrahedron of carbon.
You inhale. Four hundred parts per million of carbon dioxide, drifting through the alveoli, entering the blood, returning to the air. A silent exchange older than language.
At noon the sun crosses the meridian. Photons strike chlorophyll. Six molecules of carbon dioxide bind to a ribulose skeleton. Glucose forms. The world eats the sky.
Carbon is not a metaphor for life. It is the scaffold, the pencil-line, the hand-drawn edge of every living thing. Without its four bonds, nothing bends, nothing folds, nothing remembers itself.
dusk — a grid of small miracles
Nine shapes. One element. Countless afternoons.
tomorrow, again — another carbon day.