In the Hollows, along the Highways

Just an odd bit of photo collage this morning, made from images from an abandoned house I explored when Melissa and I went to Grifton.  It was a tiny house beside the road- old enough that it had no indoor plumbing and electricity was jury-wired in from the road.  Overgrown by trees and pivet, but still fairly sound, empty rooms with a few left-behinds: a curtain with a tiny flowered print, some broken furniture, a few religious pictures (angel, advertisement for a revival), lots of dust.  But stories- lots of stories in the corners, every room painted carefully a different color- pale yellow, pink, aqua green. Neat shelves into the walls, at one time lined with canned goods- the stains from rings on the wood.  It feels like a woman's house- yet women, I think, are not ones to walk away leaving left-behinds unless something happens.  There wasn't anything bad-feeling there, so I think she probably just faded away and no one bothered with the left overs.

I love the old houses, the tumbledowns- which our house will someday be- their stories and spirits.  I love exploring them, always respectful of whatever might be living there, calling out first.  Houses have souls, you know, that's what makes them homes- and some of the ones I explore the souls still linger, some are but husks falling into the green.  Very few of them are sad, most just restful- rarely is there 'badness' about which feels like stress, tension, air all tight before the lightening.  Those places are mostly commercial places- gas stations, motels, once a school.  I go there once and then no more, but to some of my favorite houses I return year after year- sometimes they are still there, sometimes plowed under, sometimes just gone.  There are so many of them along the roads here, and I wonder why-

Today is Monday, a promise of rain, the fourth week before the end of school.  Today I have to teach lessons, help Placido with his senior project installation (a Day of the Dead altar), submit proposals, get my endless parade of ducks in a row.  Lots to do, but I am quiet inside- a weekend of rest and stories, making small things, strawberries soaked in cinnamon whiskey and slightly frozen (highly recommended.  The manz invents the most lovely treats for me), Mother's day and speaking with my Mother and my son.  Sitting on the porch to finish a book, mucking about the garden, folding the laundry- all the simple domestics that turn the wheel.

Today is Monday, and even if it is raining, I am going to plant the Morning Glory and Moon Flower seeds that I have soaking- for they are best planted on Mondays, the day of the Moon.  I love their vines and their colors, the way they twist and turn and open and close to mark the day.  I am friends with this day- it holds lots of promise and a steadiness of being- it will be a good one, I think.