The rain was falling at just a slight patter as I passed this lovely house for an untold time. It has caught my lens many times before. I love the way in which the ivy has become a part of the house. The ivy is not a separate entity that can simply be divided from the house. It is part of its soul.
The ivy has creeped its way onto all the surfaces of the house. It has finally met its match when it encountered the mailbox. There the mailbox has been hung. It waits for the mail that may or may not come. The seeking vines of the ivy have found the red hued box to be quite a guilty little pleasure.
Hmmm, what shall they converse about? I think they are holding a conversation on tones. The music of the street. The rhythm of the neighborhood pulses and pushes them into a lucid meeting on their northern facing wall.
Just a daily conversation. They will decide how deep they will delve. For I am just an observer, a note taker, with a camera.