“Guilt upon the conscience, like rust upon iron, both defiles and consumes it, gnawing and creeping into it, as that does which at last eats out the very heart and substance of the metal.”
- Bishop Robert South, English theologian, 1634-1716
Traces of dirt clinging to cracked, black tires. Rust peeled backward by time attached to metal like strange, alien fruit. The wheel goes round, bending out of sight on a jagged, rusted curve.
Eventually everything reaches a level beyond the repair of varnish. An end lies embedded in a future hidden from our vantage. A circular conclusion to an unborn beginning.
The frame grows old and unused. The dings and dust of life collect on the body. An individual life and story exists behind every bruise, every blemish. Life is the process of weathering down. What matters, what lives on beyond the frame, is how the process, whether righteous or ignoble, occurs.
Our roaming photographer captured this image last Saturday at the Wise County Swap Meet. Drawn to the captivating lines, he used a macro lens to emphasize the details of decay, the hidden stories behind a now neglected lifetime.