So often we find things that are representations of who we wish we were. We carry on our sleeves our dreams, and assign them to whatever comes along. This barn is just a barn. But to us, us people, it's more than that. To us the forgotten object is a story. A mystery.
Sierra and I finally came here this Saturday. It was rainy, and dismal again. My mind had somewhat painted a picture of the barn always being like that. I wondered- what happened to the ones exploring before us? And why is everything exactly as it is? It scared me, certainly. The butterknife on the ground. The childrens toys scattered everywhere. And the broken down pile of what once was a house. Who lived here? And, more importantly- who will remember this place?
only us?
or someone more?
It's amazing how your brain can sculpt anything into a living thing.
nina.
