Secret Garden
I found this image here. And immediately I thought of a secret garden. A wondrous place of quiet where the air smells fresh and is filled with tiny flecks that glisten in the sun. Just beyond that opening lies warmth and peace and a place to spread your arms and soak in a lazy day.
It also reminded me of a beautiful Bruce Springsteen song, “Secret Garden”:
“She’ll lead you down a path
There’ll be tenderness in the air
She’ll let you come just far enough
So you know she’s really there
She’ll look at you and smile
And her eyes will say
She’s got a secret garden
Where everything you want
Where everything you need
Will always stay
A million miles away”
Garden Wonder
Such a wondrous garden . . . located here . . . where you pass through the fragrant lavender and enter beneath that magical trellis. The smells of earth and herbs and fresh tomato plants surround you as you pick yourself a fresh, crispy lunch. This is where dreams of summer begin.
Post-Apocalyptic Library
There’s an old Twilight Zone episode that’s my absolute favorite Twilight Zone episode of all time. It’s called “Time Enough at Last” and in it Burgess Meredith plays Henry Bemis, a bespectacled man who just wants the time to read as much as he’d like.
Check out those coke bottles. Anyway . . .
Unfortunately his nagging wife and bank job cut into all of his reading time. He ends up sneaking down into a bank vault to take his lunch and read in peace on a day when the world is shattered by some type of bomb. He emerges to discover he’s the last man on earth. He soon stumbles across the remains of the local library. Books are scattered throughout the streets and up what remains of the library’s front steps. He’s positively giddy and Henry begins running around sorting the books into piles, ready and waiting for him to have the time to read. And he finally has all the time in the world.
Until he drops his eyeglasses. He blindly searches for them until he hears a sickening crunch beneath his foot. He crushes his glasses and ruins his dream come true of having all the time in the world to read.
It’s my favorite episode because I so relate to poor Henry Bemis. And this wondrous place I’ve found for you is the post-apocalyptic library of my dreams. If for no other reason than I wouldn’t have to run around sorting the books and risk crushing my glasses.
A Thinking Tree
This is where you go to think. The light is always bright and golden. The air always smells like baking apples and baby’s breath flowers. Time moves slowly, dancing metered waltzes around you as you lie back and dream. The grass is a little bit greener. The roots are big enough to cradle you. Doze a bit, and you might wake up to find a fairy’s crown placed gently atop your head.
Bring a pencil and paper. Put your thoughts and goals to paper.
This is where you go to capture them.
Blizzard in Tribeca
I found this image here. I was going to explain why this place, at this moment, is so wondrous. I was going to tell you about the staggering pace of New York City. It’s loud and bustling and bright and dingy and you can get lost and meander or get caught up and party. And this is just the tip of the iceberg. If you’ve never been there, don’t live near it or in it, you just can’t understand. New York City is a place you have to explore and experience and discover and yes . . . . even smell.
But I was going to continue on and tell you that when a blizzard strikes everything changes. It becomes haunted and serene. Winds howl and yet the world gets quieter. The City hushes as a whole. Fairy tales are around every corner and the snow and ice turn New York City into a whole new place of wonder. New York City is always a wondrous place . . . . but during and just after a blizzard . . . . it’s wondrous in all new magical ways.
However, I’m not going to tell that story. Instead I’m going to share with you the story that the photographer Eddie O’Bryan tells about snapping this shot:
“Just prior to this shot, a police officer drove up and rolled down his window to ask if his tire tracks would have a negative impact on my shot. After I told him yes, he nodded, put his car in reverse, and went the opposite direction. His courtesy and respect had a profound effect on me, and I still hold it close to this day.”
Better than any story I could tell, this story best demonstrates why New York City is a wondrous place. More so at this time. At this moment. In this picture.
Crooked Little House
I found this photo here where it was supposedly built by a man who uses reclaimed wood to create original structures.
Nice cover story.
This is quite clearly the crooked little home of a crooked little man. I imagine a weathered, quiet man drawing water from a nearby well. The wind gently blows dancing dandelion fuzz past his nose and he pauses, looking up with eyes closed, and imagines a day in the distant past when she also danced in the wind. He smiles. Sighs. And makes his way back to the empty house.
Texture
I found this picture here. And I felt it.
I felt as if I could reach out and feel the richness of the fabrics on the walls. Smell the earthy spices that fill the air. I wouldn’t want to leave this wondrous place without a memento. A piece of this place – maybe a flowing scarf, or some musical beads – something that I could carry with me to always remind me of this moment. This dusk. This fairy tale market place.
Mourning Fog
I found this image here and at first I thought it was wondrous. A silent place full of mystery, ideal perhaps for an early morning walk. A place to gain some clarity and sense of peace.
But the more I stared at it . . . . I don’t know. I feel like there’s someone evil waiting to jump out at the top of those stairs. Maybe an axe murderer. No. I think instead a chainsaw wielding murderer.
That fog just makes me nervous. I mourn the loss of wonder that I had found when first looking at this photo. I hate you fog.
Have Suitcase, Will Travel?
Magical! What a wondrous place! So Mary Poppins-like, this amazing suitcase with a portal to another world. Sort of like the wardrobe in Narnia, but better! Because it’s portable!
Hold on there a minute. Pump the brakes.
Check out the hand holding the suitcase open. A little pale, don’t you think? Hmmm. Seems to me it’s been quite a while since that hand has seen the light of day. And what is going on down those stairs? Exposed brick wall. Dirt everywhere. Don’t people usually clean up in wondrous places? And are those cinder blocks at the bottom of the stairs?
I know two things cinder blocks are good for: building stuff and dead weight to which you can chain a person.
I may have been born in the morning, but it wasn’t yesterday morning. No way I’m going down there Mr. Creepy Pervert Luring Guy. Word of advice – don’t insult my intelligence! At least try spray tanning your puffy perv-mitten hands next time you try to trick me into your not so wondrous place!
The Thinking Tree
I found this image here. What a wondrous place to sit and collect one’s thoughts.
Sit back and feel the soft breeze that wisps leaves past your feet. Stare up at that wise, old tree and know that each bump and gnarl was grown on the seeds of ideas that were planted below. Each wish and dream that passed through its boughs . . . . each second of yearning and imagination spent beside its twisted trunk . . . . each passing moment of wakefulness, dreaminess, passion, longing spent beneath its glory . . . . each whisper that swirled its way up amongst the leaves before they fell . . . . they all contributed to the height with which this tree reaches up for something just beyond its grasp.
