I went through a broken gateway and up a grass-infested path. Windows gazed blank, the door creaked on its sagging hinges, its lock gone. Otherwise all was as still as death.
This had been a dear little place, somebody's home chipped out of the big forest, a home that had snuggled itself back into the heart of the forest and the forest hugged it. I wondered why these pioneer farmers had abandoned it. There was the empty chicken house, the dog kennel, the wall, the barrel for rain water - empty all empty. Wind and rain tearing, rotting the little home to bits.
The house was built on a little rounded rise . Just below it in the hollow the settler had made a little garden, unlevel, unfenced. The forest was creeping back, grabbing greedily for its own, binding it with bramble vines, seedling trees springing, choking, choking every planted thing - a few stunted apple trees whose crop the squirrels had commandeered, starved gawky marigolds and marguerites, poppies and scragged sweet-william. the Forest was coming, coming to reclaim its own, to oust them all.
This had been a dear little place, somebody's home chipped out of the big forest, a home that had snuggled itself back into the heart of the forest and the forest hugged it. I wondered why these pioneer farmers had abandoned it. There was the empty chicken house, the dog kennel, the wall, the barrel for rain water - empty all empty. Wind and rain tearing, rotting the little home to bits.
The house was built on a little rounded rise . Just below it in the hollow the settler had made a little garden, unlevel, unfenced. The forest was creeping back, grabbing greedily for its own, binding it with bramble vines, seedling trees springing, choking, choking every planted thing - a few stunted apple trees whose crop the squirrels had commandeered, starved gawky marigolds and marguerites, poppies and scragged sweet-william. the Forest was coming, coming to reclaim its own, to oust them all.