Meg Evans

When I browse through the online library for my digital art display, I sometimes come across interesting photos that have nothing in the caption to identify where in the world they were taken. That’s okay, though, because it can be more fun to create stories about them when I have no clue what they really are. Here’s the image that I am displaying today—where would you guess it might have come from?

The narrow street paved with cobblestones between buildings made of stone and wood has a timeless feeling to it, as if an unsuspecting traveler might go for a stroll and end up several hundred years in the past. As for the little pointed orange rooftops, they look like something exotic from a far distant kingdom out of a child’s storybook. I can imagine them at the entrance to a medieval castle, with archers posted there to keep watch from those little windows.

On a sunny morning, the street might be full of merchants in long robes driving their donkeys and mules to market, with wooden carts heaped high. Children would dodge between the carts, laughing and playing. Women carrying baskets of food or buckets of water would make their way through the crowds on the sidewalk. Maybe a small group of monks on a pilgrimage would pass by, intent on seeing a saint’s relics in a nearby cathedral.

And just maybe, looking out my imaginary window at that scene, I might see a tiny fairy with shimmering blue wings and strands of diamonds woven into her hair, invisible to all but those who believe in her.

As summer comes to an end, the shorter days generally mean less time spent outdoors. Although the weather may still be hot and muggy, like it has been around here for the past week, the angle of the sun makes clear that it’s not July anymore. Still, I enjoy the peace and calm of September evenings. Even on days when I don’t go down to the river to row, I like to post sunset photos on my digital art display and imagine that I’m looking out over the water in some new and exciting place.

I suppose the peaceful feelings that people get from pictures of calm rivers and lakes must go back to prehistoric times, when such landscapes usually meant that all was well—plenty of water to drink, along with fish and other food to hunt and gather. Probably there’s something deep down in the primitive parts of our brains telling us that we need to spend time in such places.

Wherever it may come from, I definitely feel refreshed when I walk by the river—or imagine myself looking out the window of a beautiful lakefront vacation home—as the evenings come earlier.

This week I felt like I was getting into the late-winter doldrums, so I decided it was about time for some imaginary travels. A winter photo of a castle seemed just right for my digital art display. The caption identified it as the Alcázar of Segovia.

I didn’t know anything about this particular castle, so I looked up the history. The castle was built over the foundation of a Roman fort in the city of Segovia in Spain, and many kings and queens ruled from it in the Middle Ages. Later it became a state prison and then a military college. The castle has been restored beautifully with its medieval artwork and is now open to the public.

Looking at the photo displayed on my wall, I could almost imagine that I had traveled to Spain and was looking out the window of a hotel in the city below the castle. That put some fun into what might otherwise have been a dull winter day!

Over the weekend, the weather turned rainy, dark, and chilly here. It’s starting to feel like winter is not far away. Before I sat down at the computer to write this post, I put on my fluffy winter socks and comfy pajamas with a matching scarf.

But I’m not quite ready to give up summertime feelings of adventure and settle into long months of quiet hibernation, so I put this photo taken in Japan’s Yakushima Forest on my digital art display:

Doesn’t it look like an illustration of an enchanted forest from an old-fashioned book of fairy tales, where anyone who followed the stream far enough would discover a magical cottage full of hidden treasures?

And with that picture on my wall, it’s almost like my house is the fairy cottage and I am looking out the window at the path I followed to reach it, after bravely daring to walk in the front door and finding no witches or goblins lurking there. Just right for the day before Halloween!

Now that the summer is winding down, my subconscious mind seems to be telling me that it’s about time for a vacation. Instead of the nature scenes I often post on my digital art display, I’ve found myself picking images like this quaint, narrow street:

I don’t know where the photo was taken, but it looks like an older area of a city somewhere in Europe. The next day, I displayed an image of a ship with tall sails bravely crossing a storm-tossed sea. Then I chose a photo of a waterfront resort, and the next picture was a sunlit staircase with old-fashioned décor in Barcelona. So, adding up those clues, I would say they’re telling me it’s adventure time!

This past week has been unseasonably chilly for May, and too much rain made the river unrowable for days, so I’ve mainly been sitting indoors and trying to shake off grumpy feelings. After looking out the window at another dark and cloudy morning, I put a view of a forest trail on my art display today, with sunlight softly filtering through the trees.

Such a peaceful scene! But however much I tried, I couldn’t quite manage to convince myself that I was really just about to go for a nice long walk in the forest on a warm sunny day. The sky was still just as dark after work, and I finally got off my rear end and ran around the block a few times, just to get some fresh air even if there wasn’t any sun to be found.

Without the chilly wind that we’d had for the past few days, it actually felt pretty comfortable; and then two women driving by in a big SUV stopped to compliment me for being in shape. By the time I got back home, I was more cheerful than I’d felt earlier. I walked past the art display again and—just for a moment—almost caught myself thinking the sunlight was real.