Isolation Meditation

The last of the hippie houses still hang tight for now, shedding storms and wearing weather. I came and cut a bunch of brush and branches back in March, so maybe she wouldn't be swallowed by summer. Now there's a kind of cocoon among the undergrowth, just enough to ring round the structure. The Shrine holds sadness well, built in memory of a son who died, sometime before his mom and dad's marriage died with him. The broke-up couple went back to the States, and now, no one even remembers their names. What remains is this sorrowful trapezoid, strange coffin motif on the front – and tiny metal cross in a triangle window, just under the peak of the roof. A few feet away lies the banks of Starratt Brook, down to a tiny trickle this time of year. Those long-forgotten residents practiced isolation meditation, but I prefer a little more chaos in my solitude. Going wild all alone, victim of imagination and loving it. Shouting out at cracking branches, chattering chipmunks and the smell of skunk, being one of the wildlife. This place brings out the animal in me.

 

June 9, 2020

Annapolis County, Nova Scotia

 

facebook | instagram | twitter | tumblr | youtube | etsy

 

You can support my work

get things in the mail

and see everything

first on Patreon

Done