"Half the hour is a moment filled with snow that is not there and whose absence leaves the smell of oranges where oranges have never been, and the other half is an afternoon of bones piled like firelogs every twenty feet in a pasture of tall grass, welded grains and mumblings imagine.
Were it not for a fence of milk and wire, this would be the neighborhood of the world. In a distance the word is mistaken for a mountain but is only a bottle on a fence post gathering the image of the pasture. The chicken scratch on the edifice shimmers, a bar of colored light behind the white shade, it has a family of wishes to lift."
Photography by Sarah Moon and text by George Angel from Evolution of a Blue Line - the fifth Season.