Local Dirt

Where I live the land is speckled with faded family farms. Twisted fences mark the edges of furrowed land. The barns grow noticeably more timeworn with every passing winter. Corncribs sift the wind in the shadows of half empty silos. But despite the slow whittling of time, there is an indelible history spread throughout these fields. Endless stories tilled and sown from one generation to the next.