View from the Road
Nasty storms and a spate of freak accidents have kept work rolling in the door these days. I’m on the road more than I’m in the office, it seems, leaving me just a little backed up all over the place. This is what I can muster this week.
I do, sometimes — in order to keep my wits those days when I’m to the top of my barn boots wading through loss and wreckage — try to stop and pay attention to the other things. The ones that make me smile or sigh or just stand still a while.
Now and then I’ll even pull over to the side the road and just look and breathe and maybe pull the camera from my gear.
Other times I have to keep moving to my next stop, but the image stays long.
Like this one:
Silver tresses fly wild as old bones bend double
She leans into the wind and
Wields hammer and chisel against
A letter box rusted shut
The question echoes each blow
How long since they’ve spoken?
But other times it’s more just this sort of thing:
I felt confused for the sad little boat. Boats are supposed to be in the water; not water in the boats.
If I thought the boat was sad and confused . . . A church with an end date? Really? The hills are full of these places. (This church is not the same as this one.)
I just wanted to stay all day.
I’m back at it bright and early tomorrow.
But you? Tell me someplace you’ve been lately?
Top photo is not mine but courtesy Donald Champion. (The lady with the mailbox was armed with hand tools. It didn’t seem prudent to stop.) The rest came from my View from the Road.