Saturnalia.

I feel an overpowering urge to write this evening. To create, express, share. Small problem: no idea what to say. My attempted sacrifice to the gods of winter, perhaps?

Feeling unsettled and… searching, so when I finished my book I went for a drive. I returned it to the library and picked up the book I’d placed on hold that came in today. I drove down past my brother’s house to see if the real estate agent was still there (no). And I tried to put my mind at ease by taking a picture of the lights at the Christmas tree lot.

I don’t know what it is, but since I saw the lights the other evening on the way home from work (or was it on the way to work?) I have been midly obsessed with them. It’s a small lot, in kind of an isolated spot (lots of traffic, but not an area where lots of people are inclined to stop). There is a string of bulbs hung across poles along the street, and they fascinate me. Meagre, uneven, possibly some bulbs burnt out, and yet I want to stand there and take pictures of them. And the trailer decked out in the old-fashioned coloured lights. I feel kind of classist, but I can’t help it.

Anyway, I tried taking a handful of pictures from in my car the parking area. Didn’t really work. Wrong angle, wrong distance, felt weird about it. Oh well. Least the right image is in my head.

lights

Came home, tried to capture domesticity. Some day I’ll leave here. And he won’t be with me. He didn’t like having his picture taken. 🙂

Crumb

And so, gods of winter, a bouquet for you. Good night, and good Solstice.

dried flowers

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