Once upon a time, there was a barn atop the hill behind our house. It was a great old beast of indeterminate age, worn by time, neglect and weather to a fine reminder of a lost age. There it sat—quietly, patiently, staring out over the valley—allowing wildlife to seclude itself safely and photographers to snap away. Then, one night a few years ago, a bolt of lightning took it away, turning the weathered wood into so much tinder and fuel. Now, all that's left are some pictures.
That's why I take pictures.
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