Widow

Maybe it's a sign that you've had too much solitude when you start naming inanimate objects. It's not just a matter of personifying them -- you start to seek them out, to rely on their reassuring, silent presence. These old wooden fence posts belonged to a ranch that no longer exists; the ranchers and their livestock have long since vanished, but the posts remain.

I call the post on the left "The Widow." The soft, silvered wood reminds me of a widow's shoulders, curved in quiet defense of her grief. I say a silent hello to the Widow whenever I drive by. She acknowledges me, and I acknowledge her.