The glowing yellow coat of this steel beast is nevertheless fading just as surely as the rust is quietly creeping over its tracks. All around us, like the bridge in the background, stand monuments to the age of construction. Here on this quiet ledge rests for a bit the tireless tool of the trade. Even slumbering midst the Spring flowers it has the feel of not-so-hidden power with lots of big nuts and bolts to hold it together and globs of axle grease here and there to keep it moving. I've heard it is possible to still pick out wagon tracks in preserved portions of the prairie
states dating to the days of the Oregon Trail, I wonder how long we'll be walking around on the well known tracks of bulldozers?
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