At the top of one of our pastures, just along the edge of the woods, sits an old piece of farm equipment.
You could almost miss it walking by; it's almost sunk completely down into the earth.
I'm always pleased to see it, like an old friend, on occasions where I walk by. I can't help but wonder about the farmer that used to perch on that metal seat, steering his horses. What did he plant? And where? If only rusty farm equipment could talk!