As Joe and I were returning home I did a quick detour and pull over to get this shot. Barns hold a special appeal for many. Perhaps it is because it is a sign of shelter, or abundance or what we like to call “simpler times”. Whatever the reason, a barn is a beautiful piece of utilitarian architecture.
For some time now I have awaited the right moment to dive into this new project. The moment arrived just days ago, spurred in part by a feeling of never getting to create and a feeling of make it happen. It felt good to get back to my work table and pull out supplies, to cut the phrases I had marked from Never Coming Back, and to sort through the box of flea market photos I got many years ago. I do not understand my compulsion to do an series of Alzheimer’s based pieces, but as soon as I read Alison’s book I knew I had to. Time is precious to me, I struggle to make a spot in my schedule to pursue what calls me. Yet not to, to let everything else take over is not the best use of my time after all.
There it sits, ready for use in the empty house. The air is still as if the room is holding its breath, the exhale and sigh held in bay until its fate is decided. There is a slight eerieness of suspended activity, even the dust doesn’t dance in the sunlight. Or perhaps I am reading into the scene, knowing the house has sat for years slowly sliding into the ground a piece at a time. The owner will not to return in corporeal form to light this lamp or take a seat at this table and ponder the events of the day.
Joe and I️ have shifted our walks to the crisp aired mornings given the loss of the evenings. There is something invigorating about getting out in the fresh, night chilled air and moving in and out of the warm spots created by the morning sun. It is the point in the day I don’t feel rushed, nothing need to be dealt with, no rush, just one step after another down the street and back. Moving forward into a new day.
There are things that are hard to see, we can glean the merest of details and guess at the rest. The years roll away into the distance like the hills and mountains, and all we know is there is more beyond what our eyes can absorb. That is both the comfort and bother of life.
The clocks have been changed, the dark comes earlier. Without a killing frost the leaves have continued to hang on even through the storms. The tree frogs are weary of their nightsongs, they know it is past the time they should have performed their final piece and called it a season. It is an unusual season this year, too warm most days to drive the ticks underground and so they continue their rambles in woods and fields. The clouds are telling the November story though, brooding and detailed. I venture out as often as time allows, and take in this changeable season’s many moods.