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The little pink house still stands, forlornly. Whoever bought it hasn't got around to demolishing it yet. The garden struggled on through the summer, but the weeds were the tallest thing. I keep thinking of all the people who would like to live there, even if it does have no foundation.
Across the street is another old farmhouse, shaded by a gigantic nondescript tree. It even has a barn, which has been made into some sort of double-doored workshop. And the summer before last, they grew maize in a raised bed at the back of the enormous graveled yard. There is also a grassy backyard from which a little black poodle used to try to escape by wriggling through the wire fence whenever anybody walked past. But there hasn't been a dog there in a while, and no corn was grown last summer, and a week or so ago, we saw them loading their furniture into a van. Poor old house.
Across the street is another old farmhouse, shaded by a gigantic nondescript tree. It even has a barn, which has been made into some sort of double-doored workshop. And the summer before last, they grew maize in a raised bed at the back of the enormous graveled yard. There is also a grassy backyard from which a little black poodle used to try to escape by wriggling through the wire fence whenever anybody walked past. But there hasn't been a dog there in a while, and no corn was grown last summer, and a week or so ago, we saw them loading their furniture into a van. Poor old house.