Outside in

Roof over my head

Through the window

               Another country drive, and this time I carry my camera too.      

              I find the cement bones of a building, the charred ribs of a roof. I click from the dwelling’s heart upward through ragged, blackened timbers, dappled light and beyond to expansive sky. I click from the dwelling’s heart outward through the window into what it’s becoming — outside in.

               Everywhere there is the gold green leafing of spring.

               This space is not a metaphor for my life, just a stop for thought along the way.  Though I’ve worked in jobs that provided service to others, I didn’t burn out, nor have I left behind a life in ruins. In spring, I see renewal everywhere, not just as heavily stated as here.

What I’m drawn to is the question I frame --  what  am I’m moving toward? And the answer, as it so often is, is right through the window frame – if only I look that way.

I root down, sending out tendrils of new patterns, opening the inside out, sprouting the outside in . . .