I saw this wall at “The Friars” a Carmelite Priory. I loved the light and the scattered leaves, but the wall seemed a little intimidating. I was reminded of a section of Robert Frost’s poem, “Mending Wall.”
Before I built a wall I’d ask to know What I was walling in or walling out, And to whom I was like to give offence.
There’s something wonderful about ruins. They speak of age, memory and past lives, and stand as a living protest against time’s destruction. There’s a dignity about them, even in their decaying and worn-out appearance.
These ruins are part of the old Scotney Castle in Kent. Loved our visit there. Took this shot with my iPhone.
I’ve always been fascinated by stone. Something in me believes that stone is not simply dead and inanimate, but rather alive and a kind of receptacle of memory and history. In some mysterious way I think stone gathers into itself and holds within itself what has happened around it. I would often look at a mountain and ask the question, “What have you seen? What memories lie in your stone? What would you say if you could speak? I addressed these questions to the stone of this church.