Ramona, CA- July 4th, 2011
I have a fascination with rural mailboxes. They stand alone on the side of the road, braving all types of weather, waiting to be filled -- perhaps fulfilled is a better word. I relate to them somehow.
I was driving to the southern California desert from San Diego when this long row of lonely mailboxes caught my eye. It was 11:00 am and the light was too intense so I made a mental note to stop on my return.
I'd been separated for three months and going through a divorce. To make matters worse, the woman I'd traveled to visit in San Diego had indoctrinated me into cult. She was very attractive and I thought I was in love -- that god was real and had performed a miracle, healing me of the crippling grief I'd experienced since discovering my soon-to-be ex-wife's affair. But the attractive lass had wisely rebuffed my advances, so I told her and the cult to shove it. I drove to the desert the next day -- alone -- in a rented red Mustang convertible.
I was sad, lost, and lonely.
I found the mailboxes again later that afternoon as I drove back through the town of Ramona. I stopped the car, looked around, and set up a shot. It was only then I noticed the name of the street.