We viewed the pillars through the eyes of an explorer. We had stumbled upon an archaeological find but it was a discovery of an artifact not a few millennia old but scant decades. Yet those decades may as well be millennia, for we are truly clueless as to the pillars use or utility.
They stand silently in the field, some missing and some broken. All carry the scars that mother nature and time inflict on mans feeble attempts to construct a lasting legacy. But construct a legacy they do, if even for a short time longer.
Regardless of our proximity to civilization, movement among the pillars became a trek into another place and time; a time of world war and the need to fuel that wars engines. This was just such a place, a place where the ordinance was manufactured to propel the shells from battle ships, shells that fell on far off lands. Foreign lands with scars that have probably healed better than the scars left by the plant that hurled the shells at their coast lines and fields.
All that is left now are the skeletons of buildings long abandoned and ruins to be explored with wonder and awe. This is a surreal landscape that time and most men have forgotten but for the few who, like us in our wanderings, happen across it.
You leave the landscape here unscathed as you depart but it leaves a mark on you. A mark that will long be with you, a haunting memory of terrible times and the engines that fueled them.