The farm being observed is shrouded in fog. There is a lot of refuse doting the front yard. I see convenience store cups, dormant, avoiding decay. There is a blue tractor out front with a flat tire. On occasion someone exits through a side door and enters a garage. All over are various cats of different ages and colors. The house that anchors this piece of farm land is a single story house of recent years. It seems out of place to me. It is not covered with the mud and dirt that has been painted on other structures here. At the same time it is not a new home and the exterior paint will remain the same until it is scrap lumber someday. A wooden ramp has been built coming out of the side door. A measurement error must have been made as it hovers above the ground, waiting for the weight of a walker to complete the task. It has become a place to set down various items that never made it all the way out of the house. Bags of empty beverage cans, a dog food bag, and a cat climbing stand, all laying claim to this hovering board. Raising its head over the house like a curious child is a hint of metal building. A large aluminum structure is safely resting behind the farm house. This aging giant has been here longer than the house it would seem. The rising dull metal walls of it are scatter with strange dents and buckles. Every blemish has a secret story of wayward ladders and farm equipment
saying hello by leaving its mark. Inside this metal beast is an auto shop and miss matched part storage emporium. It is enormous with huge dirty wooden braces up high. Crates and boxes and bags that overflow with cracked plastic hoses, belts and odd metal attachments. There is a truck on the single lift, extended nearly to the wooden beams. It leaves one to wonder if a giant is working on it or if the mechanic just gave up, and hoisted it to maximum height, never to touch it again? It beacons a hunt, a challenge for...
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