Abandoned things fascinate me. They were once new, once cherished. I see an abandoned farmhouse and wonder who owned it, what memories were made there, why it was left to decay. An old car makes me ponder the day it was driven off the car lot for the first time, shiny and new; a prized possession. There is nothing ugly about this living history at all.
Sun setting, the pastel colors of faded, chipped paint
Spiderweb patterns of broken glass reflected on decrepit carpet
The funky smell of ancient dried wood, upholstery turned to dust and wasps nests
Beer cans left behind, old shoe on a dirt floor
Verdant fields fill the air with fresh scent of flowers and greenery in spring, rumbling afternoon thunderstorms in summer, flaxen fields crunching underfoot in fall, unearthly stillness under a blanket of snow in winter
Unintentional shelter to prairie flora and fauna
Alas, not abandoned after all.