If walls could talk let's imagine the tales this old farm house sitting on Burra's doorstep could tell. Left behind from the time of milking your own cow before breakfast and riding your horse to school how many children ran down your passage way letting the screen door slam? How many storms have rolled across your rooftop bringing life giving rain to your remote location and beaming smiles to your farmers faces?
Sitting silently nestled in your field of shooting crops, rain clouds rolling over the gentle sweeping hills at your back you sit and watch the world passing by. Winds ruffle your grassy surrounds in waves of rolling green beauty while you sit and stare, perhaps hoping to be inhabited once more by a loving family, to once again feel warm smoke billow out your silent chimneys, is it that of which you dream?