For Lucy, who called them "ghost houses".
Someone was always leaving Scenic Routeand never coming back.The wooden houses wait like old wivesalong this road; they are everywhereabandoned, leaning, turning gray.
Someone always tradedthe lonely beautyof hemlock and stony lakeshorefor survival, packed up his lifeand drove off to the city.In the yards, the apple treeskeep hanging on, but the fruitgrows smaller year by year.
When we come this way again,the trees will have gone wild,the houses collapsed, not even worththe human act of breaking in.Fields will have taken over.
What we will recognizeis the wind, the same fierce windwhich has no history.