Broken Window

On Tuesday morning, I followed the advice that I gave to a friend last week about photography, which was: "Take a different road."

And so I took the back way to work, and I took a right off of that road to check out the cows in a nearby field. I kept going from there, and came upon a burnt-out cabin, just begging to be captured in photographs.

I shot a bunch of pictures in black and white; it seemed to be what was necessary to capture the feel of the place. It felt old. And ruined. And abandoned.

As I walked around the side of the burnt cabin, I startled a morning rabbit, who took off and hid under the porch. I say porch, but it was barely that: trees were growing up through it, claiming it back to the wilds from whence it sprung.

I am sure there is a story that goes with this cabin. Were there broken hearts to go with this burnt-out cabin? Broken lives? Broken dreams? Whatever the story is, I don't know it.

All I know is that I stopped; and that it was photographically interesting: destroyed, reclaimed by the trees, and almost beautiful in a way I can't seem to put into words.