For fifteen years I drove by this house. I imagined many scenes taking place here.
Other people tell me they do this. They make up vignettes when they see people, places, and things. I think at one time I saw lights shining through the windows. However, for most of the time this farmhouse, barn, and the silos stood abandoned.
I liked this farm sitting up on the hill and removed from the road. I took scenes from old antique photographs and wrote them on the place. On a crisp fall day, I imagined people filling the silos in the 1930s. At twilight on a summer night, I saw Mary Ellen swinging under the tree while the little sisters and brothers played tag in the yard. And in the winter, traveling down the snowy road, I saw a Christmas tree in the window and a farmer with weather-beaten skin dressed up like Santa. I liked imagining the life lived, completed with the red and brown chickens running up and down the driveway.
I looked over the other day and the house was gone! How did I miss the disappearance? I was probably lost in oil spill news or the day’s grocery list. I drove last nightand noticed the swing, just sitting there waiting for someone to sit in it. I wonder who the last person was that sat there, probably a guy in the deconstruction crew on a break.