One-hundred and seventy-eight miles Northeast of my residence, lies a small Oklahoma town. Outside of town is an even smaller slice of country life; a blip on the map. Therein lies my home of childhood, at least most of childhood. It is different now. The trees are taller, the windows more obscure behind the smoky glaze of age.
Knickknacks have come and gone, although some still stand their place of posturing on the shelf. The carpet replaced; from laminate, to shag, to wood. Bathroom faucets spray from an unfiltered spout in a rough sideways fountain. The kitchen window no longer overlooks an in-ground pool. The pool long filled in. The back-yard tree canopies the view, casting over the window, a green filtering sunlight shade of leaves.
The small shrub plants a foot tall are now tree size.
The country made Bees love them.
Such beauty at work.
Maybe they see you, and wonder your purpose as well.
A happy cottage beckons it’s promise of playful cheer.
Spring flowers long past their bloom bake in the sun, awaiting the turn of season.
Three hours of driving to sight home. Three hours to revel in the brisk nature, city sidewalks just don’t encapsulate. Sentiment, and wonder alive through the lens.
Joie de vivre cradled in a ripened era.
I, literally, could not put my camera away.
Home, not just from the dusty gravel road, but from the 55mm lens of grown-up aspect.