(a post I began last week, figuring I'd 'finish' it later- silly me; muses can't often be reawakened; here it is as left)
While photographing the things I love in my days, montages of my homes are invariably recorded for posterity but often before I move away I'll purposely capture each room before the packing begins so that years later I can rewalk it by looking at 4x6.
Last night before bed and after hanging up with boyfriend I replaced the Mosby's medical encyclopedia directly beside a packet of stashed motley photos. Of course they were excavated and there lay pictures of my home with Harold, his jacket lying near the air compressor in his studio, the latex dust on the floor tiles; my Christmas garland and icicles strung upon the over hang.
There was my home with ex-fiance, his science fiction novel on the kitchen table beside my book of wedding plans; and later on, as I tucked one photo behind revealing another, his face popped out at me; my engagement ring proudly displayed in pictures to send home to my cousin, my kitty splayed in the sunspot windows she loved.