People
say to me “But doesn't that depress you, a deserted farmhouse?” And I say “
Well, I don’t see it that way at all.
What
I see is a place where people lived, and cared enough to put up shutters and
then repaint them.
I
see lots of rooms added on, and several very beautiful tobacco barns, kept up.
I
see where someone saved pretty stones, from around here, or maybe even an
ocean, and put the collection under the roof
here, to moderate the impact of falling rain.
I
see trees that grew or were planted, a farm office, and the same views they saw
when they came here however long ago, to build here, right by the Connecticut,
in the rich river valley.
I see all the
years of lives here, and how it gradually came to an end. And then, I
see the land coming back to return the lawn, slowly.
And
someone will cut the grasses, and keep things locked up, until someone at some
point does something with this property.
But
in the meantime, the wind pushes everything around, cleaning dirt off of barn
walls and sweeping through what was the driveway, and cleansing the trees of
microbes and carrying with it innumerable neutrinos that spiral right though
you and me and the grasses and the clouds and the sky.
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