"Yeah, so what?" you ask.
"It's not your normal fence." I answer.
"What's special about it?"
This:
Now, I don't know how to read music. I was, almost literally, kicked out of my 7th grade band class because I never practiced and, most honestly, I sucked. Since I played the clarinet I was supposed to blow, but I tried blowing and ended up sucking. It wasn't pretty.
Okay, okay. *Hands in the air in surrender.* You got me. I was asked to leave, politely, but it did feel like a kick at the time and there wasn't going to be a second chance. I had already burned that bridge. It had gone down in flames weeks before, I suspect in hindsight. The only thing that kept me there as long as I stayed was the teacher begging permission to get rid of me and waiting for approval and reassignment. I don't even know where I ended up during that period.
So, anyway, I drive past this fence every day and I always wonder. Does it have meaning? It does look like notes on a musical staff. But then, when I stopped to take the pictures, I found this:
What does that mean?
Most of the 'notes' are old vinyl records. For the Golden Oldies (anyone over about forty-five), they are 45 RPM, 33 LP and 78s. In the mix are disks - as in CDs - that are a solid 12-inches in diameter. You can't see them here, enough to make them out, but they are there. They sparkle in the morning sun, glinting green, glowing silver as I pass.
For someone to have taken the time, made the effort and laid these out, suspending them on the fence for all to see, it's wonderful, whimsical and simply fun. It gives me something to think about on my commute.
If I could read music and play an instrument, what would these 'notes' have to say? Is it jazzy or laid back, or is it classical or some hip-hop beat?
I don't know who the people who live in the house behind the fence are, whether they're famous or infamous, whether they play or compose, but just having these 'platters' splattered along the fence opens the door to wonder and curiosity.
A little farther along is a collection of birdhouses. Different shapes, different colors all standing in a group under a spreading pine tree. Mixed among them hangs an American flag.
It's a wonderful little still-life that I tried to capture a few weeks ago. Sadly, the angle of the sun and my photographic skills clashed. Even though I took several different pictures from several different angles, the colors were washed out to white. I really ought to stop and try again, but I'm always in a rush. Hurrying to where I have to be, when I have to be there. Which is sad.
At least I did stop this morning, to capture the whimsy of someone's creativity to share with you. That's pretty cool.
Stop, savor a moment or two and have a lovely day!
Best~
Philippa
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