White sticks

Two tall sticks: one twiggy and wrenched from the garden during a radical tidy up, the other a tall and a souvenir of a wood walk. I’m painting each white with a view to constructing an alternative to a Christmas tree for my living room. It’s dusk and they’re leaning against the wall by the backdoor covered in noxious-fumed car spray paint. Most of the photos I took showed deep glowing indigo, with a sort of waiting feel about them. As the light disappears, they’ll disappear.
But I used the flash for one shot, accidentally. The stunning flat white light caught them unawares – suddenly they were bone-white. Beautiful, although very naked and dead.
I took a while to decide which photo to post.
We have a friend who has a very short time to live: hours maybe. Every time the phone goes I think it’ll be news about her.
I’m not going to choose an image of intrusion, disturbance and sudden shock as a symbol of this day.
It’s about waiting and peace as the light goes.
Rest well, lovely Penny.