The past few days, camera in hand I have been walking, driving around our area of Sullivan county taking shots of derelict beauty, old decaying homes, bungalows and buildings that seem to be almost everywhere in this area, testament to glory days long ago past into the history books, even these remnants slowly giving up their ghosts as Mother Nature reclaims her own. There are stories in most of these crumbling architectural skeletons, hand stitches curtains blowing in the wind, the pane of glass once protecting them broken, jagged glinting as the sun shines across its surface. Peeking through a door almost off it's hinges you spy an old chair, or perhaps a sofa, most of its stuffing gone, perhaps carried away by birds every spring during mating season.
Closing my eyes, can almost see a house back in the day, children flitting to and fro, laughter filling the air. Seeing the old cook stove, can see a mother, aunt or older sister putting on a pot of stew, or perhaps baking muffins in the oven below. Walking around the place, you see old discarded steel lawn chairs from maybe the 1940's rusted, still taking up residence under a giant oak tree, the green moss creeping up the trunk.
Done with
one dying relic, I return to my car moving down the road, stopping at an overlook that has played and continues to play host to thousands upon thousands of summer visitors, the place quite except for the sounds of rushing water on this cold winter day. I left the formal structure, scampering over boulders left back in the days when glaziers receded back too their homes found far further north than where I stood. I snapped more pictures, capturing the movement and the season in my lens. The scene so different, devoid of the children playing along the water's edge that summer is used to...does the river here miss that noise, is it aware of the changing seasons, looking forward to the spring still months away?
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