A quiet town.

October 19, Lawson.

It only takes a few steps (most of the time.)
Yesterday I felt irritated, for reasons I cannot remember now, so I went walking. I felt irritated, restless, futile and wrong in my discontentment, so I walked to the center of town, a few hilly blocks away, and soon I fell into a trance, and a trove. I started taking pictures without looking for them, because walking opens my eyes and quiets my rambling mind, makes me feel good, even when the scenery is bleak, or worse, common, especially when the scenery is bleak and common, as in so many small towns we play.
There was an unlikely boarded-up laundromat, a house with the shadow of a portico around a crumbling door, a cement wall that looked like a monochrome Miro canvas, a flower garden clinging to life in the autumn coming, an old gas station for sale, many homes with repossession notices on their door. I walked slowly, marveling at what each step revealed, and without striving the irritation was gone, and a joyful sensation took its place.
It was a quiet town in northwestern Missouri.