The Old Hay Rake

The old hay rake stands alone, all but forgotten.

The trees tower over it, youthful, green, and most importantly, remembered.

The hay rake stays there, a reminder of a time when the trees there were non-existent, not yet grown.

The trees are tall, white pine, sickly but alive. Their needles coat the forest floor.

The hay rake waits there, remembering a time when it was useful, when it gathered the hay for the horses and cows back at the farm.

The trees reach for the sun, all while being rooted in the ground.

The hay rake remains, though the field it once worked in is gone, stolen from it by the school built nearby.

The trees grew in then, and with nothing to stop them, they grew tall.

And the hay rake, the old hay rake, was forgotten.