The Windmills Are Silent

During our travels, we decided to take the the route less familiar.  At first I wasn't sure.
(Even though it was my idea.) The distance was a little further than the usual route. Did we
want to take the extra time? We had to make it all the way to Amarillo that first night. But
then again, it was vacation. Wasn't this the perfect time to be spontaneous? We decided,
yes, it was. We were in no big hurry.

It was taken in by what we found along the highway. The area was desolate. There was
not a soul around though there were a few buildings. There we found this collection of
windmills. Very intriguing. How did they get there and why? Were they built here?
Did they have some particular purpose?

There was one thing I did know. They made very handsome subjects to photograph.



And so....

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Aren't they something? The Old West. If they were once working windmills, just think of the
animals that watered at their tanks. Where did they come from? I would love to know.
They look so powerful and yet graceful. I can almost hear the water trickling into the tanks
as the shaft moves up and down pulling that water out of the ground.

And the old truck. I try to picture who was driving. A young girl with her long hair pulled
back into a ponytail. Sweeping her skirt aside as she climbs in the truck and kicking the mud
off  her boots.

If they could speak, they would have  their own stories to tell.