Moundridge

Last weekend, I went to Moundridge. This was significant for several reasons:

1. It's my mom's hometown,
2. my uncle Monte lived there his entire life, until his death in May, and
3. I hadn't been back to visit since my grandma's funeral in 2008.

So my mom and I trekked out to the wilderness of central Kansas, to see houses, streets, and cemeteries. The landscape was more captivating than I remembered, and the sunflowers were in full bloom. There was this unbelievable quiet. All you could hear was the wind skimming the tall grass; the sound of male cicadas calling out to a particularly blue nothingness. The low hills there stretch on in a way that makes it seem that they could contain everything.

It's a special place.

Breathing the air in Monte's house felt unusual. It smelled so specific, in a fleeting way. To see his space, his land...it gave me a sense of closure that I didn't have before. I still often forget he's gone, but being where he lived gave me a sense of peace that I needed. I'm grateful for that.

Along the way, I took a few photos using the cheap fish-eye lens I bought last year. And so this is all I have, for right now.

Potentially southward