Everything changes. Storms bring thunder, lightening, rain. Winter ice thaws. Wind wears down, breaks down. What my ancestors, generations of prairie dwellers built has disappeared by the force of its very environment and choices made by subsequent generations. Perhaps change is a reprieve, maybe liberation from what has passed. Those who remain on the land or in the old towns carry on and move into a new economic future but I can only see the ghost image and debris of what has been. All is adrift, falling or ascending. I walk down Main Street and experience what is no longer real.
I recall places, buildings, streets, farm houses, elevators, mostly gone. No longer hidden but no longer in existence. The atmosphere is of change, stormy skies over fields. Buildings on Main Street. Old sheds, and tiny homes that housed the old people after they left the farm. The grain elevator, long gone.