A View from the Loft

The hayloft smelled of dry alfalfa and old iron. I climbed the ladder rung by rung, keeping light on my boots until I reached the upper floorboards. Over by the open hay door, a split-rail beam offered a clear sightline straight across town to the water tower and the depot. Resting on a flat cedar crate was a small iron pocket telescope, tucked beside three fresh tally notches cut into the wood. I leaned over and adjusted the brass eyepiece. Through the glass, the depot platform sat crisp and clear. Whoever stood here hasn't moved on; they've only just settled in.