Tuesday, January 04, 2005

Reflection II


All around her the desolation was evident. It's so quiet here...The night almost echoes, she thought.

Cass walked past the rows of old mining hotels, each of them painted in cheerful pastels, lining Main Street and jutting out in odd angles, reminiscent of times when structures were assembled over night.

She had heard at one point in the 1890s nearly 20,00 men and women occupied these streets. But she can't image it now ... the town seemed so precarious, dangling over the side of the mountain.

Where did they all live, she wondered.

Looking past the old structures clinging to the slopes, she spotted the First National mine. It stood ominous and exposed; its enormous mouth blackened by time and misery. This was where hundreds of men succumbed to promises of wealth and immunity - the nexus of the town's current tourism industry.


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