Farewell to the farm.
In her black cape and bonnet, the Amish woman is headed to a serious occasion, bad weather or not.
Lost in the forest of urban ruins.
The news had come earlier by carriage. He had married another woman in a far off land. She wanders alone, feeling abandoned.
Sometimes, she sits alone in her chair, reflecting on her life and her children long ago out of her home.
She has just murdered her abusive ex-lover and makes her escape on the beach.
Another feminist makes a bold statement.
In the late 1800s, a young woman in rural culture had to compete for the privilege of a man choosing her as a bride. She would go on to keep his house, raise his children, and bandage his moods. For spinsters denied the privilege, there were two options: nursing and teaching.
Mrs Murphy has been farming as long as she can remember. “It’s all I know,” she told me.
In the 19th century, the farm kitchen was hot and filtered with food odors. The pioneer settler wife cooked on a wood-burning stove, smoke and perspiration constant companions.
This might be the cover of a romance novel, a woman's story of lost and regained love.
Red can reflect the complex moods of a woman.
Old woman hanging on in Havana, Cuba.
The bride mourns over her fallen man.
She looks out over what had once been her existence.
Rural woman and her husband. They work from dawn until dark, and then something often goes wrong.
Many Muslims believe Allah requires women to cover their hair, that head-covers convey a message of purity and godliness, that a headscarf engenders respect and honor.
She was a young farm wife, and her days were filled. Cooking, cleaning, gardening, animals, husband, children. Nurturing. Time demanded and rarely refused. Yet, once in a great while, she needed time for herself.
The comforting scent of cooking on a wood burning stove.
Scene from a Bronte sisters novel, perhaps Jane Eyre or Wuthering Heights.
Church lady and the symbols of her faith.
This had once been the teacher's lounge of her past.
In World War II, the women were left on the home front. It was rare when they had the chance to dress up and walk through downtown.
They will soon demolish the apartment building, but memories will remain.
A street woman sometimes lives in a world of fantasy.
An old African American cemetery where memories can be painful, if there are memories at all.