We stored the harvest grain it what was once an aircraft hanger. It was large, warm, dry and big enough for the forklifts to move about with ease.
The aircraft hanger was light and airy within; with the doors wide open and toolbox at hand, it was my place of sanctuary and quiet contemplation.
The aircraft were parked in a massive iron barn, shrink it down and I guess you could call it a fairly basic shed. Yet on the scale it was, everyone found it inspiring, as if when you stepped through the doors it was another world, one of steel and grit. His boots met the concrete floor, as his eye adjusted to the silvery light, as if this place was so large it had another sun. And on that day, in the morning that was still so new, it was as if there was only light and birdsong other than this place. Soon he'd be airborne, he smirked, mama always said he was born to fly.
The aircraft hanger was so large that it felt totally different to being inside any structure Farley recalled. The breeze moved freely from front to back and the light cascaded from windows onto the planes as softly as forest sun onto trees. In short, there was no stuffiness and no odour save a tincture of kerosene.
Keep track of your favorite writers on Descriptionari
We won't spam your account. Set your permissions during sign up or at any time afterward.