I finally turned 50 this past winter, but other than this it has been sort of a drag to be me lately. The landscape all winter has had this clingy sort of remorseful clumsiness, like a drunk rescued from the lake . And the weather overall felt like a sinus headache under a wet wool cap. My black and white landscape photos have always resembled the oddly specific charting of such unremarkable ailments, so in that sense they are true. But this winter I’ve tried to spare the landscape the embarrassment of my attentiveness with the hope that we might soon start anew. I once thought I would always be younger than the landscape, but lately I’m seeing in my windows views that seem removed from seasons past, so maybe nothing is true forever.
I’ve been looking forward to turning 50 for awhile, excuses now being a little more handy. It can only get better. I also just like the word fifty, like an adjective meaning neither fit or iffy, a condition beyond the collective efforts of 5 ten-year olds or 2 millennials.
Anyway, spring. The tire starts are coming in nicely this year.