Once Again Fallow

The scraggly woods are filled with water, a sorry cluster of trees at the edge of a once-industrial field. The rising sun streams through the trees, reflecting off the stagnant rainwater, orange against the black-shadowed trunks. The land is all but abandoned, of no use to any one, any more; not to the industrialists, whose immense factory once stood in this field, not to the farmers who earlier coaxed crops from the bottomland's soil, not to the deer who still earlier nibbled at leaves and stems when the woods were immeasureably more expansive than those which remain today.

Today, the land stands forlorn, home not to industrialists or farmers or innocent deer, but merely to a few wayward pieces of construction equipment which sit parked here, rusting and likely forever.