Sometimes, walking, you find things that are left by others — discrete gestures to beauty.
They are not intended for all, but for the few — that might be looking. I leave things out — a stack of bones, a scrap of old paper with a mapping stroke on it; words, in worlds, left somewhere to be discovered. A talisman, for someone to discover.
Little discretions of beauty, I’d call them.
Walking, out there, the windbound way, I found this — just there, hidden, tucked into the edged bark, some roughened tree, awaiting the next storms. Round, the wind blows — yet the little painting holds firm, resolute in its disposition. Place, found
And that little contrasting touch, I had to think about it for a little bit. Beauty, placed — a striking contrast.
Beauty, placed — and there you are, “didn’t you discover this too?”
I was thinking so.
T | amidst the rains, the Pike Place Market.
GIRVIN | B R A N D S T O R I E S
E X P E R I E N C E + D E S I G N + M E M O R Y