vanessa violet
Long way from home…
I’m sure at one time this boat took to the ocean over and over though it’s been sitting here for as long as I remember. I can’t help but stop every time I pass. I park at the little post office and wander down a trail to where it sits. I love the peeling paint, the rusted nails, and the rope left there as if it were used yesterday. There a nostalgic feeling, both happy and sad, as I think about how it was once painted bright beautiful colours, yet now I watch it gradually fall further into disrepair. I expect any day to see it reclaimed by the earth. In the meantime, I’ll be sure to keep visiting, watching, and documenting its life on shore.
Long way from home…
I’m sure at one time this boat took to the ocean over and over though it’s been sitting here for as long as I remember. I can’t help but stop every time I pass. I park at the little post office and wander down a trail to where it sits. I love the peeling paint, the rusted nails, and the rope left there as if it were used yesterday. There a nostalgic feeling, both happy and sad, as I think about how it was once painted bright beautiful colours, yet now I watch it gradually fall further into disrepair. I expect any day to see it reclaimed by the earth. In the meantime, I’ll be sure to keep visiting, watching, and documenting its life on shore.