In last rays of the evening sun, a hopeful rose.A pigeon is on the parapet of the house opposite this morning. It is one I often see. It looks over the edge, tilting its head to left or right, looking for something to eat.
Almost anything I uncover when turning over the soil in the vegetable garden seems to have an archaeological value: a chip of blue china, the perforated lid of some kind of dispenser (Bill at The Compasses says later that it could be the filter from an old gas mask); a bent and rusted piece of metal; a fragment of the serrated edge of a saw blade. Deterioration and corruption seem in a perverse way to add value, but the value is only for me. I assemble a small collection.
1 comment:
I understand the 'value' of broken things. I collect them too. They have a tattered beauty don't they? I wonder about their histories. I often put some of what I find into my mosaics.
I thing the Japanese theory of wabi-sabi would apply too.
Post a Comment