In search of story

March 19.19


The photographer intent

(it’s all about the focus),

unheedful of precarious

line-of-vision locus,

cries impulsive HALT

oblivious to drawbacks

with his hapless two assistants

athwart the railroad tracks.



Thanks to S.W. Berg, the Indiana Jones of photographers.

And this, dear reader, should you not recognize it,

is the old Purina factory in Fortville, IN,

a re-purposed, grittily imposing

monument to another time.



4 thoughts on “March 19.19

  1. It reminds me of all the co-ops in the small towns in the Midwest. Hope you have a day free of grit. 🙂

    • Indeed, the essence of the small Midwest town. As to grit in my days, HA. I’m uncertain at which point dust rises to the level of grit, but I’m pretty sure mine has. More than once. Don’t tell my mother.

  2. It always seems strange to leave the railway lines open to walkers and traffic – and just as strange to hear the music (almost music) of trains hooting in the middle of the night.

    • I grew up in a place crisscrossed by railroad tracks, and that train whistle in the night was music indeed — as long as it was at proper distance, of course.

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