Tag: Abandoned places

A Mysterious Gate

black and white photography

Tonight’s post has a gate attached.

I stopped by this place on my drive home today just to take this picture. I’ve passed by it often and I’ve liked the rustic look. There’s something about the texture of the weathered wood that I really find appealing. This gate literally leads nowhere. Just a wide spot near the road that I’m pretty sure belongs to the Railroad. (I didn’t pass beyond the gate due to the private property sign hanging on it.)

I suppose that the scene represented a mystery to me.

An open gate that guards an empty lot. A sign that warns you to keep out. And an empty (I presume) gas can. A younger version of myself would not have been deterred by a sign on an open gate. I would have walked right on in just to be rebel. However, today I’m responsible for my own actions and so I’ll have to live with the mystery. But I do have a theory. This gate is there to keep the weeds from running out into the road and causing a traffic accident. 😉🤣

Echoes on a foggy morning

black and white photography, poetry, travel

I stood in the mists and listened, and I heard the echoes.

The echoes spoke to me and here is what they those echoes said.

Once there was a house and the house was a home.

Once there was friendswho would gather.

Once there was laughing.

Once there was a song.

Once there was dancing.

Once there was the smell of dinner cooking over an open flame.

Once there were games played on the lawn.

Once there was a warm bed and quietly spoken conversation by candlelight.

Once there was a sadness and a warm embrace to lessen the scars on a wounded soul.

Once there was work to be done and rest to be enjoyed.

Once there was love and love grew into life. And life was good.

The echoes fade away but love lives on.

Poetry by Lloyd A Dempsey II

The Feature image for this post is the Old Mason-Drennan house. Sadly, it’s a historic site that is quickly succumbing to the effects of time.

As I look at site I think about all the different stories that would have played out at the old resort. In the early Twentieth Century this was a destination for people who would travel from far away. I wonder how many family lines got started at the dances and social gatherings that were held there? That question was the inspiration for my poem. As the old inn fades away do the memories live on like an echo in time?

As the weather in the Northern hemisphere warms up people in Appalachia generally gather around a camp fire and tell ghost stories. But such stories don’t always have to be scary. After all, it’s just a story… isn’t it?