I stuck my head while on a ladder, through the pulled down roof boards. I should use the ceiling boards for some kind of accent in the poolhouse.
I wonder how large the existing building is?
What is all the stuff up there. Looks like more of the fated oil in a bottle. Some more bed frames. Maybe I can use one of them for the bike rack. Some plywood that was recently put up there. Some tar paper, and chicken wire that look to be from our own. But in the back there on the left there looks like some old school CW. In front of that there is a trash can possibly.
The things at the bottom of the bed frames looks like something a touch different. I will have to investigate.
Literal, in my childhood I always found places like this and imagined the things I would want to do with them. Here I have a garage. Maybe the last part of the duplex that makes sense to do anything to. Plus I need a place to stay. I have been working over so many other places that I have over looked this. The idea of the poolhouse comes to me in an interesting way. I am sort of looking at it in a way that is a little out of the corner of my eye. It is resonating.* I am this place in my life where I have come to change. I described the two rivers side by side and flowing at the same time. Congruently. In tandem. I sat across a cement picnic table which was so appro. The solid manifestation of an image from an email conveying clarity. (the cement picnic table. blogspot.com)
Change, internal foundational, structural.