Taken in Cody, Wyoming.
The sun was high in the sky, beating down on my neck. My mouth was dry and my lips began to crack. Dirt covered the tips of my boots. I could smell the sagebrush that was nearby.
I looked back behind the old western town and saw what once brought life and maybe even carried those that died. Worn broken down wagons…I swear I could hear the tired and weary dragging hooves of horses.
I am of Native decent. I am Oneida. I am Iroquois. Wagons like these once carried my ancestors and Native brothers to reservations, boarding schools, and brought them rancide meat and blankets with smallpox.
All of this went through my mind as I looked into the camera eyepiece, checked my aperture and shutter speed. If these wagons could talk I thought, then I snapped the shutter.
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