“There are more things in Heaven and Earth, Horatio, than are dreamt of in your philosophy.” Hamlet, Act I, Scene V, 184-185, Shakespeare.
The route I take out to Hastings, (the town in Minnesota, not the battle-of in Britain, just to be clear. Seems worth pointing out that I’m not a time traveler, and the likelihood of me surviving a 1066 invasion of Normans is probably far below getting burned as a witch by William the Conqueror. Um. Anyway.) is full of farmland. Corn and soy seem to be the big ticket crops, if you’re interested, with the occasional horse or hobby farm breaking up the monotony of fields with fencing. In the winter, as you can imagine, said fields are fairly boring. White and grey and sort of desolately lonely, although not Hoth desolate: most farms have trees delineating the edges of their properties or, at the very least, in the yards around houses and outbuildings.
I grew up on a 40 acre hobby farm, so I do understand the boredom that comes with living too far from your friends to bike over on a weekend, or too far out to easily go grab dinner or do something in the evenings. Boredom breeds creativity: I absolutely blame *ahem* credit my long summers in the sticks for my perhaps overly fertile imagination. But I never came up with anything like this:
I’m just so damned impressed.
Is it a tribute to stuffed animals?
A furry sacrifice to some unnamed deity (He Who Walks Behind the Corn, perhaps, or some Old One)?
Have they escaped the captivity of the farmhouse (not pictured, because that would be rude), and much like Weeping Angels they just freeze when a car goes by?
I HAVE SO MANY QUESTIONS.
Just wait ’til I get pics of the others…this is a trilogy.