The elongated trees bury the sight of the unusual yet intriguing house.
The wooden exterior looks as if it does not have the potential to hold the house up.
Yet the glistening sunshine reminds the house it is still willing to embrace its existenece.
The dusty old windows are stained with years of isolation.
There is no door to this house but I stay behind, still searching. Searching for an answer, a clue, a taste of its history.
A man steps through the doorway.
Old in age, yet his eyes are young.
There is a secret strength.
His worn out boots, are scraped and rugged, extending up to his knees.
His green suspenders stretch at the curve of his large belly.
The suspenders are clipped to his short khakis, which meet the boots at his knees.
His mustache and beard full of white intensity drown the sight of his chin.
His nose rather large makes up for the lost vison of his chin.
His glasses on his eyes are not in good condition, maybe I should give him mine?
His hair is hidden by a red worn out knit hat.
His stares at nature outside his house, but he can not see me.
He walks back to his house,
I continue walking.