I was walking along Boylston Street toward Brookline Village and saw a side street I'd not seen before. I thought perhaps there was a way to walk that avoided the traffic and clutter of Boylston - even though I decided to walk that way thinking I could use a dose of urban confusion. So I walked down that slight side street to see what I could see. And there was a house, an old house, weathered and tired and quite serviceable as long as appearance wasn't high on your list.
Look at the clapboards, they're old: you can tell because they're close together and the detail on the entryway - surely it had seen better days, lots of them, yet the careful eye of the maker still was visible through the peeled paint and discolored trimboards.
Yes, look at the detail of that entryway. There's something there that speaks of love, speaks to me at least. Oh, at that moment, I could almost see the builders walking away when the work was done, moving on to the next project a hundred years ago, no more thinking about this solid place they had created than we would, usually, passing it.
Because it's old? Because no one has cared for its exterior? Because we're too busy? I don't know any more than I really know what captured my attention this day. But there's stories here and these images only hint at them - who lives here now, who has lived here over the years, how do the interior spaces resemble the exterior or reveal additional layers of meaning or complexity.
Lots of questions for my walk on that striking, sun-lit afternoon. There are real answers just as there are real people reflected in these moments. We walk by and occasionally we notice. Be grateful when you do - on one level that's what it's really about.