There are places forgotten; places ignored and left to deteriorate.
I am drawn to these places, like ants to a sugary confection
melting on the hot pavement under the sun.
There are no fellow walkers, no family pets to encounter,
only wild birds and the sound of the hard December ground
crunching beneath the weight of your step.
It's here that the mind's imagination can run as wild and
free as the northern wolf. The grade school mantra who,
what, where, when, why, and how clouds the mind.
It's as if I've discovered my own magical wardrobe
and have been transported to another world. I imagine
it is not industrial leftovers that I explore; it is where
once a lord and lady lived.
I climb the rocks like a careless child. The stone is cold
and rough. From atop I am reminded of my youth, I'm
the king of the castle and you're a dirty rascal.
I return home with muddy boots, rosy cheeks,
and tired legs.
A wanderlust heart is never bored. The world
is my playground; waiting at my doorstep is
adventure - I can hear it whisper my name.
DIY // Garland Crown
Thrifted // Cape
Thrifted // Jeans
Vintage // Boots
Vintage // Camera Bag