Something we've both noticed as we've journeyed across several states is the powerful statement that an abandoned building can make. I mean, you're driving along, and there in one state of disrepair or another is an old barn, old house, old store. It may be just boarded up and padlocked, or it may be half-collapsed. But at one point, that building had both meaning and purpose. Someone cared enough to build it, someone cared enough to use it, and someone cared enough to maintain it. But then, something happened. Death, illness, apathy, or even opportunity. Some agent of change brought about a gradual or rapid conditional upheaval in the life of that building. And now, months, years, or decades later, the building bears the scars or outright maiming as the result of that change. My brain goes through the story possibilities whenever I see a building like that. Maybe it was once the barn built by someone's grandfather, but that someone has since gone on to live life in the big city, turning his back on the farm so the whole place has fallen into disrepair. Or maybe old Earl just up and died one day, leaving no heirs to the legacy of buildings, and they too are now dying the slow death of buildings instead of the slow death of man.
I know this really has nothing to do with the trip. I guess my point is that I'm feeling creative again. The way I used to feel before. It's not forced. It just is. I hadn't realized how much I missed it.