Thursday, February 21, 2008

Old House

As we rounded the bend in the old street where the trailor park once stood, we noticed a small abandoned house choked by weeds uncut, and brush unmanaged. The front door was found locked from the inside and the screen door was missing its screen. Somehow, it looked like a welcoming escape from the heat and we plodded over the loosening earth to check the back door. We found an overturned stone table in the back yard, along with a few other bits and pieces of old furniature. Extending out into the lowtide river, a creaky wooden dock caught our eye as well as the busted glass at the back of the building with a clear entry and view inside. Glass lay everywhere from the work of previous vandals breaking and entering and one of the rooms seemed occupied by a squatter. A metal bowl filled with coals and burnt wood was sitting neatly in the closet, an open beach chair against a wall, small candles, matches, and various other objects lay scattered in an organized madness on the floor. Still, the other rooms are more than bare, with the exception of the roach carcasses scattered about the entire house.There is a kind of serenity here, in the oddest of places. A musky old home still filled with the hopes, dreams, memories, and lives of the people who once resided there... An old creaky dock where a grandfather may have taught his son and his sons to fish....The sun sparkling off the water as it laps against the clay and sand....

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