ABSENCE IN PRESENCE

I am drawn to the emptiness of place—particularly when it is filled with a nostalgia so redolent you can almost taste it. Someone was here once, full of energy, effort, intention, and vitality. Their fingerprints remain everywhere: in the deliberate laying of bricks, the forging of steel, the connection of bolt to nut, and the distinct, hand-painted lettering.

Within the cold, dank air I often notice the undeniable feeling of aloneness. Yet, there’s a warmth too—a familiar connection to the raw reality of absence in presence.

In that moment, I find myself appreciating the quiet beauty of this artistry, shaped by time and the skilled hands and creative minds of a generation long gone.

I am less saddened by absence these days.