Dappling

Dappled is what light does on water. These three sheets are the mark that makes it, over and over.

Bubbles falling through water, each one ringed a shade paler than the field around it. Rain on a salt flat that was already drying, every drop leaving a pockmark. Rain beaded on the curve of a canoe hull, sitting there in rings.

Same materials as everything else here. The difference is that nothing in these is a place or a thing. It’s one small event — water touching a surface, or leaving it — repeated until the repetition is the subject.