Sunday, July 22, 2012
i'm pulled to these old structures. i never enter. or look for an open window or doorway. but i remember as a child, my mother had the same fascination, and we sometimes would make our way in. there is still so much energy left in their walls. you can still feel the dreams weaving through the emptiness. i'm drawn to how true they are. in many ways. there is only the wood and nails left. or the stones or bricks. they have become one with the trees. with the land. like a sprout or a branch of another lineage. i'm collecting these storied structures full of so much laughter and sorrow and sweat and dreaminess. i'm crowding photos onto a pinterest page with their sad eyes and strong bones. i feel like they are whispering to me.