Those magnificent sunsets, riveting to the bone. I walked into the prairie, and felt like the cool wind on a Saturday night. I can see the old rusted behemoth. It sits, lost in the wastebasket of oblivion. Tall whisky willows, tower in front, their boughs blocking it's menacing complexion. A hummingbird approached me. The shuttering of the old clock in the truck, fell to a lonesome silence.