Home is where the heart is. Or where you hang your hat. But most of all it is where you go back to when you want to see both how it is as you remember it and what is actually becoming of it. Permanence and change. But in a manner that feels like home will be forever.
It’s not. Change is.
That’s not bad. Change is normal and we better get used to it. I mean, as a species. Not that we really do. We like to stick to what we know, as that’s safe. The herd feeling comfortable. Fight or flight … or often “it will go away and all will be good”. Sticking our heads under the covers, hoping the bogeyman doesn’t exist.
Mostly it is in our heads that that creature roams. Thoughts about what was could be popping up at the strangest moments, disturbing our sleep. We are all scared. And it is logical, as we all do this for the first time. Living. We shouldn’t forget that, with a lot of people trying to make out as if they know better. Yelling in the dark.
I’ve now been “away” for more than a year and – wonder oh wonder – it is the strangest things that visit my Sunday conscience: I wonder how those walnut trees fare. I must have visited them a dozen times in all kinds of weather and light. Always amazed about the almost abstract lines. Typically a great object to capture in black and white. I wouldn’t mind going there right now and have a look. I just hope nobody cut them down.
I’ve had that experience once and was shocked. Literally. A tree in the middle of a forest. Cut down. The only one in a mile. No logical reason, no link to what is “logical”. Just destroyed.
Oh well, change is normal.