the past only rusts

Lots of coffee sitting outside at the bookshop/coffeeshop this morning. The wind is kicking in from the south and is warm as fuck. The air smells like rain and the scent of yesterday's blackberries and nettles.

Yesterday. Yesterday I visited the old rusting and composting cars at the farm where I grew up. Down under the blackberries and fallen alder limbs. Down where the air smells like nettles. The old broken down cars got pushed down into the ravine in about 1969 and have been there ever since. Not many people know, and no one visits. I do though. And if you get shit like this I'll take you. I took someone there yesterday. It was muggy and smelled like summer down there. We sat down under the blackberry canopy for awhile. She and me and the old rusting cars. I thought I might catch on fire. Summer down under blackberries. Down by the old cars. Rusting. Beautiful. The rains coming in. Just staring.