The light being perfect and golden and the morning shadows being long, the photos came out well.
Along the roadside, the witch hazel was in bloom, sending out a scent like freshly printed mimeo paper. I'm glad I remember what that smelled like, when the teacher would bring the purple-blue tests, still wet and cold from the printer, and we'd smash the paper against our noses and huff the smell. That was the nice part about taking tests in elementary school.
I have gotten in the habit of sticking my iPhone up to cracks in barns, to see what's inside. I love the patterns, the light, the mystery of it all. These are scenes I can't see with my big ol' eye. The cracks are too small.
Chet sniffs out mysteries of his own. His coat shines like burnished iron.
These cobwebs were blowing back and forth in the draft coming into the barn, giving them a wonderful blur of motion.
What's inside? Do you see a gently smiling gorilla face? Mona Lisa Gorilla?
Virginia creeper makes crazy caterpillar shadows.
It's one of those mornings when I'm finding little paintings everywhere I look.
This is a hideous exotic Miscanthus grass that I kill wherever I find it on our land. Not everyone shares my abhorrence of it; some of my neighbors dig it up and plant it in their yards because they think it's pretty. Knock yourself out. Before long that's all you'll have in your yard. And you might try to walk through a stand of it before you decide to plant it. Your funeral.
I never see a house like this, standing patient and abandoned, but I want to move in and write a book there, mice and musty air and all. I come to these little roads to move my old bones, to dream.