Originally uploaded by Nigel Lomas
Day by day, degree by degree.
Discovered an old drive-in theater just down the road from the log cabin we stayed at last weekend. Hidden behind the pine trees, the rusted back-side of the screen was just peaking through the tops of a row of mighty tree tops, causing me to exclaim in disbelief: "Is that a drive-in?" as we were driving by.
Later I walked down the road (and admittedly ignored the No Trespassing signs) to check it out. A cozy little ozoner, I have pictures of what's left of the Pines Drive-In Theatre in Dixon, IL that I'll try to get up soon.
One need not be a chamber to be haunted,
One need not be a house;
The brain has corridors surpassing
Far safer, of a midnight meeting
Than an interior confronting
That whiter host.
Far safer through an Abbey gallop,
The stones achase,
Than, moonless, one's own self encounter
In lonesome place.
Ourself, behind ourself concealed,
Should startle most;
Assassin, hid in our apartment,
Be horror's least.
The prudent carries a revolver,
He bolts the door,
O'erlooking a superior spectre
-- Emily Dickinson
The eldest son bestrides him,
And the pretty daughter rides him,
And I meet him oft o' mornings on the Course;
And there kindles in my bosom
An emotion chill and gruesome
As I canter past the Undertaker's Horse.
Neither shies he nor is restive,
But a hideously suggestive
Trot, professional and placid, he affects;
And the cadence of his hoof-beats
To my mind this grim reproof beats: --
"Mend your pace, my friend, I'm coming. Who's the next?"
--from "The Undertaker's Horse," Rudyard Kipling