There is a sill hidden neatly behind a cherry bordered wall in the old abandoned publishing plant right next door to Stewart’s grocery store in a town once nourished by the railroad. On restful nights you can still hear the sound of a caboose running shotgun for a string of cars that vanish on the horizon. Strip the sandals from your feet and you’ll feel life in the ground beneath you. A life that inexplicably makes it’s way past the old rusted press and inkwells to a bookshelf where three blind mice sit lost atop a wall once reserved for a lad named Humpty Dumpty who for some reason has wandered astray and is now a permanent guest of the Queen.