Taken in a South Dakota ghost town.
This building was so old that it was, literally, falling a part. We could only take one step inside before caution tape stopped us in our tracks. But, still, we could see how this dilapidated building had once held so much life–so many people coming and going, talking and fighting, laughing and loving.
I adore old buildings. There are so many echoes of life within the walls–so much that we can never know, but only imagine.
It’s a sort of magic, that wondering: Who was here before me? Why were they here? How did this place impact their story? Was it just a paragraph? Or a whole chapter?
No way of knowing, but also no stop to the wondering.
Like I said: Magic.
