on a fall afternoon

beyond the back gate and up a hilly field sits the stone wall where once a house stood not far away. the house has long since rotten and fell and the family name was forgotten when the postman stopped delievering the mail. bills and junk, little white letters, a paper trail that leads back to the mystery… who were these people, why did their house fall? was there not future generations to inhabit the house, to mend the roof? paint the walls? as a child i remember seeing a light on the hill… it was bright. but as the years went by those lights grew dim, and not once did i go see about them… they faded without a thought. a black shadow stood and hunched, then fell into the field to be swallowed up by the flowers, and grass. the only sign there was ever people living here is a short stone wall, that barely stands as tall as the overgrown field, past the back gate and up a hill.

eric w. desselle