farm record books
The farm’s record books, bound in cracked leather, reveal a gradual softening of detail after the bloom—dates become approximate, soil analyses less specific. Yield numbers remained high, but their certainty diminished with each passing season. This shift wasn't falsification; instead, it mirrored how the land itself seemed to resist precise capture, its familiar contours dissolving into something more fluid. The scent of turned earth no longer carried the same sharp clarity, offering only a muted echo of harvests past as patterns blurred and decisions felt less anchored within defined boundaries—a quiet acceptance that some things simply recede from view.
