farm shed

I have stared at this image for oh, I don’t know how long. A long time. I have turned it around. I have tried and tried to come up with something to write about. I have looked at it closely. I have written about the aging wood it is made of, how it must feel to run your fingers along its grain. That dry, crisp, hard texture which threatens to splinter, drawing your blood. I wrote about the mystery this shed presented and finding a small gap between the boards to put your eye up against. What do you think you might see? I wrote about the shadows cast around the paddock the shed sits in. How they create an eerie wonderment, creating suspense, making me shudder. I wrote a bit about how green and crisp the grass is and the sound of the crunch under foot as you walked to that shed. It would be cold so you would have a jumper or cardigan wrapped around you and you would be hugging yourself tightly unwilling to let go for fear of letting that cold touch your ribcage.  You know that feeling when you are cold, that pain in your ribs, your chest, as the cold air threatens to freeze you from the inside and your breath is shallow. If it were me I’d be wearing my beanie too and my nose would be frozen so I’d be sniffily.

I wrote about the season, which looks to be autumn time, that wonderful in-between season where the air is crisp and cool and the leaves fall off the trees. I have even tried to reminisce about growing up in the country but there is a memory there which is too dark for me to talk about right now.

Basically I have tried to push aside the very first thought that came to my mind when I saw this image because I absolutely did not want to write about that! As a last resort I showed this picture to my husband and asked him to say the first thing that came to his mind. You know what – it was the exact same thing that I have tried to push aside. Do you want to know what it was?

The Walking Dead.

Specifically for me, Hershel’s shed. The one where he kept all the zombies including his wife and Carol’s daughter.

I didn’t want to write about The Walking Dead. How I came to start watching it, when my husband came home with a copy and said ‘I heard this is really good’. My lack of enthusiasm but I thought I’d give it five minutes before busying myself with more important tasks. I didn’t want to write about my immense love of the rich character development. How watching the physical transformation of these people brings this post-apocalyptic world into a more realistic realm.  My disappointment they killed characters I had grown to love such as Hershel. I will never understand that. I didn’t want to write about how amazing the writing is, how they use set design, movement, anticipation and lighting to build suspense that gives me the tingles and keeps me coming back for more. I didn’t want to write about my frustration with season four that I felt they needed to start moving forwards. We needed to start seeing some rebuilding of a new life. We needed to see hope, that not everyone out there is evil. Then when season five started my relief that the writers heard my silent bids. I really didn’t want to rave about how groovy it would be to be cast as a zombie and get ‘zombie training’.

So I am not going to write about any of that!

What is there left to do now?

I guess I will go back to that creepy picture of the barn and try to figure out what I can write about … Careful, don’t let the zombies hear you…