You can see this derelict home from the road, but not now, and for just a split second in any other season. She's been taken over, grappled by ivy and colonized by porcupines in search of shelter. One crawled out underfoot as I crossed the threshold, and I treed another in the forest out back. They shuffle around with mild annoyance, safe under a coat of quills. Beneath the sheath of summer, this home suffers the same protection. Prying eyes can't find far inside, just a wall of green in the shape of a home. Looks like all our right angles are being softened, by tongues of time and swallowed. It only seems right now and then, that the boards we hewed from an unwilling woods splinter and crack and take the rotting way back. It won't go to waste, feeding the roots and leaving new dirt behind. Every death serves some purpose, reshaped around new life in a rush to take its place, borrow the old energy. All the rocks cry out, and the trees hail holy entropy.
June 29, 2020
Annapolis County, Nova Scotia
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