Fort Popham

I may have gotten a bit overzealous amidst all this concentricity. I am not even caring if that is a word, sshh, let your eyes feast on the lines...{i kid you not, almost every one of these still has its b&w/color counterpart over in my flickr pool, i couldn't leave any of the tender things behind.}



I used to dream of stone houses.



full of corners, laden with the weight of their age. Silent under foot.







But I imagined them full of kitchens with warm ovens, and heaps of wool before I ever knew how essential wool is to me. Later I understood how stone can be stifling and cold at once, but I still swoon over its textures and sweet neutral palette, its spare dusty scent.



Boy battles shirt:



and wins. Which was, I believe, the most action this fort ever saw.