She dropped a pin. Then another. She traced the faint outline of the mill’s footprint, the railroad spur that once fed it, the odd angle of the loading dock relative to the creek. She exported the placemarks as a KML, then used a free converter to turn it into a DXF. It was a crude skeleton—just lines and polygons with no memory of height or brick or broken windows.
And somewhere in the cloud, AutoCAD and Google Earth shook hands over a job neither could have done alone. google earth and autocad
Mira imported the DXF into a blank drawing. The foundation was there, a set of white lines on a black infinite void. She rotated the drawing so true north aligned with the site. Then she began the resurrection. She dropped a pin
For years, Mira had been an archaeologist of the invisible. Her specialty wasn't digging with a trowel, but stitching together the ghost layers of a city using two very different pieces of software: Google Earth and AutoCAD. She exported the placemarks as a KML, then