The song and story of a place. 2 photos of a Winter's day in New England

Inspired by fellow Hivian @tattoodjay and his Mono Monday Post, which you should see here I thought I would share a few moments of my Winter in black and white.

This image (shared again as I'm never sure of thumbnail edits) sums up the quiet contemplation which I normally have, but more so in Winter.

The reflection of our neighbor's house in the bay with a solitary goose sliding along the still but icy low tide. One of my beloved boulders, in stark contrast of whites and greys, picking up the reflection of the white and grey house across the harbor.

I often say there is a music to this place. There are unique sounds that make up the symphony of days here and these various 'movements' are felt in the 4 seasons. Winter can have a sombre ring to it, a lull in the piece before the crescendo of Spring with new life.

Yet, in it's simple moments like the old brick path that leads to the docks are endless songs and rhythms of the past.

I always say, mainly to myself as I am often my own best companion, particularly in the quiet Winter season in a seaside area of Summer homes, that if one listens carefully you can hear the past. These old bricks, in their basket weave pattern are forever being encroached upon by moss and lichen, sand and grass, but it winds it's way down through a little wood to the sea and the docks. I can hear, I swear, the rustle of trailing petticoats and Summer silk on these steps when I walk them in my wellies and tweeds this time of the year.

They once trailed from a larger home, an estate once, that has been sold off into smaller bits and bobs as the family needed after the wars, but tho the big house is long gone, the bricks remain. They are still trod upon each summer by barefoot grandchildren or tottering older folks to go down and sun themselves for yet another warm Summer afternoon.

In the dead of Winter I hear it more. And it's true, I've added to the swish and glide of petticoat and trains myself, for I am often indulgent enough to wear such garb for walks. I feel, for me, that no amount of healing drug can lift a person's spirit more than slipping into the past and knowing that joy of long skirts trailing over grasses and old bricks and rimmed with sand and saltwater upon a return home.

These 2 simple photos tell but a portion of the endless things I see and hear in the sameness of this place. The story and music of this place in black and white.

I hope you all have a lovely day and find a moment to stop and listen to the Pas; it often has secrets to tell that can give us hope and knowledge of our own Present.

If you'd like to follow my Work Here are some Links:
NFTshowroom
MAKERSPLACE
My Website
Instagram
Twitter
My 3Speak Channel