I returned to a familiar place that has gone unvisited for enough time to expect that things have changed. Some things have; others remain the same. This is no surprise although it always does surprise me - that life, growth, decay all move along, continue, in my absence. It ought not to be so hard to grasp, except perhaps as metaphor.
I remember this rusted fence, the one that overlooks the spillway that feeds this muddy river. And I recall this gently weathered rope, captured last time as it held nothing to nothing. I could see the hands that tied the rope and imagined the sequence of events that led to it being left there. It told such a story, at once coarse and nuanced.
But this time there was another element - synthetic and fraying and yet containing what felt like similar histories of imaginings as the jute. There they were, tied together and combining to tether these new moments to my memory of the old and to enrich both through their unintended, graceful presence. It will be a while before the stories become clear. Patience, that is another blessing.
Marco
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