About a mile down the road is an old farm. No one lives there right now, but years ago I would see smoke coming out the chimney of the little cinder block outbuilding closer to the road, and sometimes an elderly woman could be seen working in a garden out front. This past summer a car was in the driveway and a woman was doing yard work. I found myself wondering if this had been her childhood home.
This week though, the kitchen remained silent and cold. There was no aroma of fresh bread, no hot tea steeping, and no humming of the elderly woman. No smoke wafted from the chimney of the cinder block building, and the elderly woman's husband did not stomp the snow off his boots by the back door or come inside for lunch.
Time marches on. Perhaps one day a new family will arrive to inhabit this old farm and make more memories... I can only imagine.
The Barn Collective
Resting on the Beach.
1 hour ago