I am continually amazed by the surprises that can be found in a viewfinder. I had stopped to take a quick picture of a round bale of last year's hay and found mister goose patrolling the area. His significant other must be setting on a nearby nest.
As I looked to the left, I found this reflection in an otherwise nondescript swampy area. We have quite a few swamps in these parts. I'm wondering what kind of summer it will be for pesky mosquitoes. One rainy summer they were out in droves in the middle of the day!
The shadows were lengthening and these weathered bales from last year stood sentry like ancient ceremonial stones in a field showing new growth.
There is usually one lone tree in every field. This one looked both stately and mournful.
But even more mournful was the shape of this once prosperous barn. Elderly barns and elderly people have a lot in common. Both are composed of equal portions of grace and frailty.
When we moved to Iron Acres seventeen years ago, we hired George, a neighbor and handyman, to help us put up some fencing and add a little onto our tiny barn. George packed a lot of gumption and grit on an old frame much like the barn above. He was a prisoner of war held by the Japanese near where the nuclear bombs fell that ended World War II. He lived in this rental property that belonged to Miss Alice, our neighbor across the street.
Oh the stories old George and that house could tell---the history they both have seen.
George and Miss Alice are gone now. Perhaps someone with vision and love will befriend that old house. It would be a shame not to. I know it has some good stories left.