Every society needs to have its fringe, transgressive counterculture. I would live at the abandoned strip mine, entreating the slumbering devil of ages past. Presuming the steel is not reclaimed for use in homes or ecological projects.

I would pray to it for resilience and to supplicate its spirit to never return. Its thirst for industry must be quelled with songs and the aromas of cooked food, lest it seep back out into the land and inspire folk to consume the earth again.

The creaks and groans of the metal in the wind would lull me to sleep, and its bulk would shelter me from rain.