If you were to stand on the porch of our house, to the left you would have seen the forest. Our lawn seemed to grow in to it, to penetrate the under brush and shadowed canopy. Of course, this was enough years ago to make me think I’ve seen the whole thing in a movie. Regardless, my mind replays this movie in vivid, but skewed detail. There’s a certain stream of light that never seems to move on the left side of that lawn. The turkey baster is at the central of it all and a few trees, both old growth and newly planted, are there too. I feel as if I am a giant watching this and have lost the perspective of the child who knew it. Fall is there with the stream of light in this memory movie I have of my yard. I can tell it’s fall because the light comes across our yard from the south, just missing our house.
I’m drawn to this picture at curious times, times when my mind ought to be more sensibly occupied, and times when it doesn’t matter that it isn’t.