michaelboy

I am frequently drawn to bits of "what is left". It is kind of hard to explain. It might be a section of roadway that has been cut-off by the interstate, which no longer serves a practical purpose - where crabgrass, briars and black locust saplings begin to dominate - where there are still the remnants of cracked pavement, rusty guide rails, broken shoulders, and mostly peeled line paint. I can't explain it but I'm am very drawn to it. However, it isn't my hope or fancy that I'll turn things around and revive any piece of it.

Along the abandoned right-of-way with a strip-like building of what once was a motel-diner now hosts crows roosting in the open rafters, all next to the remnants of a Sinclair service station with porcelained metal siding and oil-stained concrete islands where gas pumps once stood.

It isn't just that simple. It is more the memory (imagined or actual) of how things must have been - and how little or no thought could have even been given to the notion that there someday may be a diminished physical importance in what we had wrought. Yet, in spite of knowing this, it still has importance to me.

It feels like the pyramids..to me.

Sing it:

Watch on YouTube