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deja vu

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I knew this place nestled in the trees, it came back to me, a very distant memory

The closer I got, the stronger the story line, from a time way before I walked this earth.

The trees were not as mature, in fact  most, except the one, were but  seedlings in the ground

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“Father farmed the land for miles around.  The nearest neighbour was a day away, unless of course, it was a Sunday, and we could hitch the horses to the small cart.  We would all dress in our Sunday best to ride into the closest settlement, otherwise, we spent our days  tending to chores and learning to read by candlelight, once all animals had been bedded and we could rest before we ourselves had to head up the stairs to bed.”

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I couldn’t resist a look inside, sure enough the stairs were still there, but somehow the rest of the living area had been taken down and left to be dealt with another day.  I did consider going in, to see if I could still see out the window, from outside, I saw it was still there.

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Reality is, it was another time, and the youngster who grew up there, was long gone. The world has vastly changed, and now, this home that was, sits alone in an isolated little woodland, on the edge of big farming complex.

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The windows of the past, that we encounter today, fascinate and intrigue me.  Similar to the interest I have in doors, doorways and entryways, the questions, the storylines, the hazy visions into what was, could have been, or could be………..  never cease to delight and titillate my creative cells.

life is a journey of discoveries

to be savoured 

and enjoyed

 

Namaste      –          Oyashikiri

photography & text  Q (mine)

nearest  city – Cornwall, Ontario,Canada

Comments on: "deja vu" (6)

  1. I love this – I also love discovering old forgotten homes & other buildings..Beautifully captured 🙂

  2. I often wonder at the lives that once dwelled in old, abandoned houses. If only the walls could speak.

    • would that take some of the “fantasy” away? I do however agree, it would be nice, but… again… mystery is…

  3. I love old wood, old wooden things, old wooden doors, old wooden places. They still seem alive, somehow, and I beg them to tell me their stories.

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