Decaying

I'm not yet thankful for this spring that has come. Instead of focusing on the vegetation that slowly and reluctantly lifts its head and brings some early bloom, I'm forming a well of disgust in myself. There is so much decay in the air. All the winter is still lingering, more apparent than ever: the rotting black leaves, the reeds that have lost their fluff, the bushes so strikingly bare and spiky. It all makes empty noises in the wind --one that carries just the stench of trash laying all around, which, mixed with the sweetness of the rare blossoms, is plain nauseating. Even the green of the grass is just eye-hurting and brings out the ugliness in the things that just aren't green, nor they are that calm yellow and brown they used to be before the spring came. This up and coming new life is rising from between the things that are dead --which are the majority.

I don't mind decay. I am rather fascinated by it. But it honestly doesn't make for an especially pretty backdrop for blog photos. And yet, I do not want to settle for some pretty city-scape. The Bluff where I go to take my photos is a home, and I am one with it. I'm sorry if I'm not a particularly good blogger because of it, and not providing you with the most beautiful photos lately. That's probably a reflection of my moods, though, as I've been feeling as if I'm slipping into a bog. It's ok though. I want to keep my solitude in this ugly place and in these non-pretty pictures. If you please, you can feel challenged to find something of interest in these photos that are so plain. It's life and it's true.

I made the skirt and the sweater and took the photos by myself.

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