As I stood in the 10 degree winter barn yesterday wearing parka, hat and sheepskin mittens, waiting for David to finish splitting kindling wood so I could carry it inside, my eyes wandered to this door. Something ordinary became a still life as the winter light struck that point for only a short time. I looked and then looked again and then decided to go inside and get my camera, leaving the axe wielding woodsman to his work.
There's a story here. The wreath, which adorned the front door of our house during Christmas, is too lovely to throw on the brush pile just yet. A few oak leaves escaped the rake in the fall and lie brittle on the mat. A green sleeping roll reminds me that we sometimes sleep outside. Winter makes me forget that I am ever warm. The candles and string of lights are from the book party we had for LOON this summer, a celebration that brought family from as far away as China. Seeing the shovel makes me grateful that the epic snow storm in Washington, DC didn't even send us a flake.
The small antlers above the door? They were once part of the wild world. I will never know their story.
3 comments:
Thank you for including us in your reverie. Esp. liked the fall leaves that "escaped the rake".
But..how about the light switch, so linear and functional w/in the random object collage?
Intrusion? Convenience? Necessity? ...ah, the mind wanders.
My daffodils are blooming on my chaotic kitchen table. a reminder of Spring, and you, in the midst of this cold, February Sunday.
I too have trouble throwing the wreath away each year. Perhaps I'll put it on the garage door until summer's dry winds force it's needles to curl and brown.As for now, one can cut forsythia for forcing! It warms the soul.I have a huge spray of it blooming in the kitchen.
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