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After several hours at the wheel I stopped to photograph a stand of poppies. Nearby was a sign that read: Stop and rest, linger, enjoy all yea travelers, wayfarers and walk-abouts. The sign was fairly large in a cursive font that leant a creative flair to the invitation. The grounds were contained by a metal fence with stone pilasters which, although a bit closely spaced, added an aire of elegance in an otherwise nondescript, small-town neighborhood. Thinking it might be a Bed & Breakfast, I strolled up the drive.
There was evidence of yard-work, but no one to be seen. As I approached the front door I noticed the building's facing was composed of rock inlaid between "pilasters" or, in this case, column-like accents. Four semicircular steps resembling concentric waves led to a small porch and the front door. To the side of the doorway a finely-crafted, wooden rocking chair, the glider kind, basked in its position of prominence. It was attended by a lithesome pot stand upon which rested a bird's nest. I pressed the doorbell and detected - rather than heard - it ring.
I inquired about seeing the art. He asked what I meant. I said the house was obviously the abode of an artist and as an enthusiast I was interested in seeing the work. He said I was partially right. The home had been built by an artist but he had sold it to them. His wife appeared and joined the conversation. She averred as how upon purchasing the home she had begun painting.
He left to get one and soon emerged carrying a beautiful winter landscape. The scene was of a stand of birch in front of a picket fence with a barn off to the side. Gray, rounded mountains filled the background. The painting's light was so wonderfully done it actually glowed. I had to pause.
The husband said, "I think she has talent." I agreed vigorously. She beamed. I pontificated on why (I thought she had talent) and added that the yard was beautiful too. He had been working hard on it and was glad it showed. By now the synergism was imbuing an expanded state of enthusiasm. I realized I was once again in what I'm convinced Aldous meant by an orgy...we'd reached numinosity and were basking in it.
The husband bid me happy travels and I ambled back to my carriage. (Eggbert sees himself as a Caravel with four-in-hand, dontchya know.) The "hours" at the wheel had given the poppies to appear at just the right time.
Thank you J.A.T.