The farm is a time machine, placed in the universe where palm and live oak meet. It absorbs the seconds and gobbles the hours - a mythological land that lives in the past with roots in the future. A land where tha sun is always warm and the wine always chill. It is a land which smells of dusky wood smoke. When you walk through it, you brush its timbers, and if you're careful, you'll pick up splinters that will work their way into your imagination. It is a flash and a boom to welcome a new year or the rebirth of Spring. It is people: tall ones, pretty ones, big ones, short ones, not-so-pretty ones, skinny ones, hairy ones, smooth ones, young ones, old ones, diverse, different! but all with that same, sometimes barely hidden, glint of laughter just behind their eyes, almost as if they were remembering some old joke or funny story that came to them just as they passed through the gates. It is out-of-plumb lines that only converge in some other dimension. It is concrete and rock, wood and nails, oil and dirt, tin and iron, all bound together with sweat and love. It is all the people who have seen it and left with a new sense of themselves. But above all, it is Michael.
Keith, 1990 (Old friend Ed Keith passed away June 18, 2011) Obituary
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