A Broken View
This is the third and last installment, at least for now, of A View From the Road, which is focused on poverty and transition in America. For the last few months, I have been walking by what were once thriving mills, and there adjacent buildings. The properties, which were abandoned, and are now in the process of trying to be reclaimed, have certainly seen better days.
Letting my natural curiosity wonder, I have peeked in boarded-up windows, burnt down garages, and this brick power station, which sits on a small river. I have looked at the ruble before and frankly found little of interest, though I must admit, after several visits, I keep coming back. Thus, I did not hesitate to walk right in, a couple of weeks ago, while I was out capturing fall foliage.
You cannot imagine my surprise and horror when I spotted this make shift bedroom. I instantly left the building, sorry that I had violated a space which had obviously become someone’s home; I looked around for the owner of this bedroll, but found no one. It was a cool and windy day, as I once again photographed someone else’s misfortune, with a twinge of guilt. I could not help but notice that the buildings new occupant had cleaned up the area. Previously, both halves of the room had looked alike, now it was quite evident that the place had been made more livable. What does it all mean?
Since taking these photographs, I have been back, on several occasions; but I have yet to find the occupant.
These are not the best of times for many; but I especially fear for this soul.
