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Today's mission was to find something weathered. I thought of crazy-lady wind chimes and the rusted out carcasses of forgotten automobiles left to die in someone's back yard. Rust is practically a food group in Oregon and I had big plans of capturing it on film.
Unfortunately I have one of those job things, and it requires me to be in an office. I spent most of today around a lot of not-rust, and nary a wind chime made out of old forks.
But I did find this slightly broken curb; and by 'find' I mean that I agonised all day about what to photograph and griped to my husband on the way to-and-from picking up dinner until he pointed out this grody old curb and demanded I photograph it (largely, I suspect, to shut me up): covered in moss, in need of paint, chipped from being run over and ignored.
It feels weathered to me, as though it has carried many worries on its curb-shoulders. Or maybe that's just what I'm feeling today.
