With the clouds boiling up and around, bringing spits of rain in the dark tops, delivering the sun to the bottom, drying the ground, keeping the grass feeling real and green, and bringing it in, coming to life, the farm rides the surf at the top of the wave.
The grass is deeper now than when the animals walked and ate it down, and the fences are gone that held them in or out of the barnyards pastures and fields.
They worked each day at this peak of the hill, viewing those clouds that spun up so differently the same, with the windmill turning round and round, water coming to the surface, and being served to the crowds of two and four legged creatures.
In each board now exposed, in the holes in the walls and the roughness of the roofs, day after day of sunshine and rain, with wind and wear bearing down on these buildings, the whitewash of yesterday’s gone, and seeing the time filling in the holes through the memory of those who worked, those who walked the fields and kept the animals, the beauty of the farm bring about the sunshine and clouds, wrapping the peak of the hill one more day, and another and another.
Ralph Peck
Photography by Chris Hall
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