Xanadu Among HorsesXanadu Farm.
It's old and dilapidated and mushy and ooshey and grimy. Most of all grimy. It's most certainly not the glorious
marble palace of Kublai Kahn. It's a proper working farm that demands sweat to seep out of every pore and gives back only
painful calluouses and a sense of fulfillment. The barn was leaning in on itself in a haphazard and careless manner. I'd
had nightmares that the old mold heap would fall down on me in a moist and crumbling vise of a heap. It never did.
Manure and compost.
The stench of them goes hand in hand up you nose and down the back of your mouth to lie it's tired-self down on your
tongue for a bit, for even the odors have to labor away on Xanadu farm. After a while, you'll come to welcome the reek as it
becomes associated with happy memories. It becomes, 'homey', if you can stand to bear it.