Dusty detritus of a life long since over, a life lived in a bygone era: A framed diploma with too-regal calligraphy, disproportionately ornate by contemporary sensibilities; nineteenth century books with inlaid covers. A weathered barn with warped gray wall-boards, deformed by temperature and wetness, now misaligned with one another; the wind being channeled through them, a haunting sound--a spiritual radio tuned into the past, faint signals barely audible through the loud static of all-consuming now-ness.
There is a charming tender humaneness about things.
People should be wary when entering old barns. Hantavirus has been transmitted through exposure to the dust inside them.
No comments:
Post a Comment