No, I am no different. Here I am, reveling in this incredible opportunity to visit an old, falling down, empty house... A mere shell of space where once dwelled the spirit of that great writer. I, too, must sit in this garden and bask in the sunlit serenity. I, too, must marvel at this house, if only from the outside (the house is closed for this season until June 1). I feel silly, and yet, I cannot help it. I am one more silly person chasing after that momentary glimpse back into history... As if it means something to be here.
...
Here comes another visitor, taking pictures. Like me, he is just here, present, with camera in hand. The birds are the only witnesses to our silly rituals of capturing memory.
...
Purple tulips and peonies about to bloom.
Just wind and leaves blowing in the yard.
