DAY 4. Nostalgia.
The gas pump sits like a tombstone in the grass by the blacktop. A bare tree behind it testifies to winter. Why do bare trees make us feel sad? The red barn is, perhaps, jealous of the gaiety of the gas pump’s red shell, and it may try to amp up the color of its faded walls to compete. The barn’s envy is misplaced, for the gas pump has never harbored the livestock and fodder that the barn has. Instead, the pump stands unused, a relic of early technology that filled the gas tanks of the Model A and the like, back when the car was a novelty. The gas pump will lose its shell of steel to oxidized rust, one molecule at a time, while the barn nearby will fall into disrepair, one splinter of wood at a time. Are they competitors or companions, after all?
Thanks for visiting! (More tomorrow!)