I took a very early morning walk when visiting my old village. Took a small detour to check in one of our long standing friends. She was not awake as yet, or was out walking herself. She liked doing that, being part of nature and isolation.
As I approached the house and saw the demise of a once beautiful red cedar cottage, that her husband built for them , it broke my heart. I realised that she was not coping really and has never ceased to grieve over the loss of her husband. That was well over 20 years ago.
I returned later in the day to make sure she was ok. Her appearance, her house, the garden, all reflected her mental state. But with a great network of old caring friends, the odd hospital stay, somehow she plods on.
The chair, the leaves, the old twigs on a gorgeous old chair had caught my eye. The verandah in obvious dire need of some attention just beckoned to be photographed in that wonderful morning light. Here is my interpretation of how I felt at that very moment.
Deep in earth my love is lying.
And I must weep alone.
… Edgar Allan Poe