a mausoleum…

bare essentials…

mistrust…

icy cold…

the glass ceiling….

The Shed’s Shelf

“The cleaning and scrubbing will wait till tomorrow, for children grow up, as I’ve learned to my sorrow. So quiet down, cobwebs. Dust go to sleep….for babies don’t keep”

Ruth Hamilton, 1958

I embrace all of you………

“We are all like the bright moon, we still have our darker side.” Khalil Gibran

Nothing to the Imagination……

Rather than presenting the image with no explanation and leaving it to your imagination re what the image is, I decided to explain each image. Yesterday afternoon, the sun high, I visited an old restoration/recycle company. In back, near a loading dock, they store all manner of metal pieces for creative renovations or industrial art. The shadows were crisp, the pieces rusted and ordinary, save a few. So, I took a few shots and here they are. Some are obvious and some would have been good ‘I wonder what that is?’ moments. The back loading dock had all manner of objects that are unique, decorative pieces.

A very heavy duty spring

The top of that heavy duty spring looking down onto a steel grid.

A steel plate with a square cutout on top. The sunlight is seen penetrating below.

The shadow of an old metal shelf lays over the top of a lid to some container beneath.

A galvanized watering can spout.

A heavy duty, iron wagon wheel’s hub and spokes on a cement deck

Large metal bin for recycled materials on a concrete deck.

Lastly, the ornamentation on an old garden gate.

Looming

“If stars would but appear only one night every thousand years, my how they would marvel and stare.” Ralph Waldo Emerson

“Yours is the light by which my spirit’s born: – you are my sun, my moon, and all my stars.” E.E. Cummings

I fancy the image more dark and brooding, less about love and hope and nature. Good and evil perhaps? A challenge to the meek, the distracted, the saints?

Mysterious

“Conscience is no more than the dead speaking to us.” Jim Carroll

“Of all ghosts the ghosts of our old loves are the worst.” Arthur Conan Doyle

“Not without a shudder, the human hand reaches into the mysterious urn of destiny.” Frederich Schiller