Grandpa had no problem hanging out the laundry. A trait to be admired in a man from so long ago. Apparently he even constructed a wind-bag to determine optimum drying conditions. The basket in his left hand was one of his favorites.
As decades roll on, all things must pass, as George Harrison said.
The man. The clothing. The basket. All must eventually scatter into into a state of disorder. Entropy marches on.
I processed these images in black and white chemistry as I’m not equipped for C41 color. I’m sure the leaves were beautiful until grandpa raked them up.
The photographer favored this bush. It’s a “burning bush” I think. They turn crimson in the fall. Color film was a real treat long ago.
Unfortunately the bush is an invasive species. They’re everywhere now.
The falling leaves drift by the window
The autumn leaves of red and gold
I see your lips, the summer kisses
The sun-burned hands I used to hold
Since you went away the days grow long
And soon I’ll hear old winter’s song
But I miss you most of all my darling
When autumn leaves start to fall-Johnny Mercer