Thread: Return to Barrington

Missed the LM deadline, but liked the pictures and the fanciful story...

From the old gate a stone wall had stretched in eachdirection. Only the remains of the stone gate, to one of the gardens on the farm,now remained. The sounds of life have long ago disappeared, now only the autumn winds, rustling the golden leafed trees, breaks the stillness of time gone by.

Walking under the canopy of these shimmering leafed trees,the sounds of fallen leaves crunching under my feet, visions of what once wasdanced across my mind. Once a large family had lived here, caring for thefields and animals, that sustained them over the years.

The stones had come from the fields, thousands of them, asthe horse drawn plows had unearthed them they were hauled away. Never wasting anythingthey were used to build fences, fireplaces and smoke houses. The land was tamedand used to build robust fences and walls.

But those days were long past.

A terrible war had swept the land, uprooting families and breakingup generations of family owned farms.

The Barrington’s were one such family.

Hostilities swept across the farm, not once but four times, eachcombatant gained victory only to be pushed back. The struggle for dominancelasted for years. Each battle resulted in a burned barn, smoke house or root cellar.Firefights raged behind the stone walls, bullets ricocheting and the screams ofthe wounded and dying piercing the air.

Finally the battles and the war moved on, leaving nothingbut the scorched remains of the Barrington farm. The stone walls blasted into rubbleby the cannons, the burnt remains of the buildings long since reclaimed bynature.

Time passed, the property passed from one owner to another,but the Barrington family never returned. Now part of yet another’s farm, they nowpass the old stone gate and wonder of its’ past.

From the scarred, burnt and trampled battlefield young saplingssprang up and eventually became a forest of beautiful trees. From springs new leaves to falls color pallet they hide and grace the old stone gate, the only reminder that history has passed this way, leaving only a mystical reminders.

Man’s time on earth is finite, leaving monuments large and small of his passing, each eventually reclaimed by nature, the only enduring constant in life, and life is a journey, not a destination.

Remarkable picture....where was this taken?

I haven't written in a while and missed LM deadline (for this submission), but liked the picture, and penned this fanciful story in response...hoped someone would comment on it?