In the middle of butt-fuck no-where eating breakfast cereal with not a soul in sight with only one thought in mind…
Fields in every direction divided by plotted crops splattering endless stretches of flat lands. The prairies, where mole hills are literally called mountains. Run down farm houses remain looking over those rolling “mountains” as historic landmarks. Markers left standing as if a reminder, time moves slower here but nothing lasts forever.
People talk of wanting to go back in time. Depending on where in Canada you find yourself it can feel that you very well have. Least until you crunch on the breakfast cereal left with the realization.
Your breakfast cereal was likely harvested with one the giant combiners on the horizon. All these field are likely owned by one corporation. The run down farm houses are reminder of a lost family legacy.
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