Beautifully Weathered

South of nowhere I am driving down a two lane Kansas Highway.  As my mind wanders my eye catches the fading green of a modest mid-west farmhouse.  I am drawn in by it's rustic decay and yet vibrant green paint.  I pull off the road, and begin to snap pictures.

What drew me in?  I am not quite sure.  There is nothing really extraordinary about the building, or her surroundings.  The glass is mostly gone, a few rippled panes hang onto time frozen windows.  The roof is nearly rusted through, the old corrugated tin is slowly returning to its elemental state.  The front door is a mere formality at this point.  It will not hold back an intruder, it will not shield anything from summer's heat or winter's icy gale.  Why am I drawn to such decay?

Back in my truck I pass a dozen white farmhouses surrounded by picket fences and summer flowers.  They don't draw me in.  What continues to capture me is the search for the lost.  The lost story.