I have a fascination with weathered things. Whited washed battered board that bespeaks of long ago times and of simple things. Old houses that live by the side of the road that have been reclaimed by mother nature – morning glories adorn the porches where our grands and greats would ponder their own stories, when rocking chairs where therapy and iced tea the reward for a day well spent. And I’m not sure why I take comfort in old rails that lead to nowhere, old country stores that once offered a gathering place for news and community.
These things, these places are guideposts to me. I know that a complicated as the pursuit of a simple life becomes- those who came before have fought the same battles, dreamed the same dreams and “weathered” the same storms. I take solace and a certain amount of Southern pride in the ability to overcome, understand and start again. Weathered things let me know that storms pass and the human spirit finds a way to push ahead. The subtle beauty and quiet stillness in these objects also gently reminds me that time is fleeting and our own lives are taking on the patina of battles fought, love lost and dreams readjusted. I don’t have as much time to waste and when opportunity finds me, love comes calling and life demands my full engagement, I need to listen and then I need to act – so that my own story- my own weathered legacy will speak of a life well lived and of love worth living for
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