I took a walk in my own yard this evening, if you can call a few acres of pastures a yard. I wound around the clumps of thistle the horses won’t eat and the piles of fairly fresh poo.
I stopped and watched the clouds move across the sky.
As I walked back towards the back yard – the part we use on a daily basis, the part without horses – I noticed what I often forget: that the back of things are usually more interesting than the front.
As a child, alleys were my favorite places to play. You saw the neighbor’s yards, the things hidden from view. Stuff thrown away, neglected objects, decay. The country has a lot of neglect and decay and its no more or less beautiful than what you find in the city. You still have to walk to find it. And when you look up, you could be anywhere. Or nowhere at all.