Photo "Ghost Town" by Fred Miranda
The wind blew gently upon the dry grass, a small lizard scurried past the long abandoned wagon.
It was twilight in the town called Sundown. Somewhere a coyote called for its mate. The town was quiet now. Once, it had been a thriving community with merchants, saloons, and a livery stable. Children would play with barrel rings like giant hollow wheels they would roll them, wobbling and true through the streets. People would gather in the saloons on Saturday night and the survivors would attend the only church in town on Sunday.
Life was simple then, the copper mine employed three hundred and many more were there to market their wares and services. Early in the morning the steam whistle would signal the first shift and the day would begin. Like so many days before it would start the heart of the town beating and would continue till after dark when the quiet would return as the town slept.
The town sleeps all the time now, laid to rest with the closing of the mine. Gradually the people moved away, and eventually everyone was gone. Once thriving, change had come to this town that was reflected in it's name, Sundown.