Much can be said about simple design and construction. Maybe just a reflection of life?
For a few weeks I’ve watched the sun penetrate the depth of the golden-green moss covering the cabin’s roof that sits just on the east side of the road.
Sitting quietly, suffering from generations of unforgiving weather and neglect the structure struggles with the added weight, its shingles, rafters strain down to the rock foundation.
It’s silly to think of something that has no pounding heart as being capable of feeling, but there is something about this cabin that leads you to believe it has seen plenty of life.
It’s just tired and deserving of rest.
The whitewash surrounding the doors and windows offers no beauty and little protection these days. It no longer glosses over the imperfections of neither nature nor man leaving a rough, worn surface for all to see.
The inches of thick carpet is speckled with dry leaves and twigs, more arriving each day with the blowing wind. The hemlocks, pines and thick brush start to crowd its space as if to reclaim land that was once theirs.
Behind, a sixty foot tall tree trunk grows westward. It has its sights set over the roof’s peak, angling for the middle, as if it only knew where to place the final blow.
Now it’s left only to time and the discretion of nature.
This is the cabin’s widow-maker.