Among the photos that I pulled from the sleeves of the albums in that East Village antique shop is the one that appears above in my blog header. When I turned over its page the breath caught in my throat. This photograph carries an essence of deja vu that I have been here before. The eeriness of this snapshot is not so much its familiarity, but that I will return to this place again. That old woman rounding the corner is me.
I study this photo and I feel such contentment. This is my home...my life. I have finally found my place. My old friends are scattered along the streets of this little town and down long gravel lanes out in the countryside. I am surrounded by my gardens where I hill my potatoes and harvest greens for my evening meal. When the flowers are in bloom, I fill my home with colorful bouquets that scent the air and remind me every day of the beauty in my world. I relish the work that pulls me into the gardens daily and leaves my body spent when I crawl into bed every night.
Another look at this old photo tells me that I have been here for a very long time. The gardens testify to that. I seem to remember a tall fence once, but now it is gone...and this very spot was once shaded by a tree. Phlox, dahlias, and peonies thrive in this now-sunny corner of the garden. I also remember the entire property covered with lawn, but only remnant strips of grass remain. Like the one in the photo, these narrow paths run along the garden beds that now blanket this earth.
I hold my future in my hands in this old B&W photograph. I have to wonder when my present life will intersect with this future one and I find myself rounding that corner.