This house is old. And the overgrown yard needs a good cutting. Maybe I'll jump on my cousin's mower and give it a trim.
I don't know what I like about antique houses. It could be that the floorboards make noise when you walk on them. Or maybe it's the air conditioning window-units that look like leftovers from the Eisenhower Administration.
Out back is a gargantuan tree. The squirrels are playing a game of tag in it. They look like they're trying to kill each other.
The kitchen has rolls of vinyl laid on the ground, like area rugs. If you lift the corners, you can see daylight
through the gaps in the floor.
There is no dishwasher, no garbage disposal. No coffeemakers, either. Only a stained, aluminum device that looks like it's still celebrating D-Day.
The living room stinks of mildew. They say three generations have held funeral visitations in that room. Only, folks didn't call it a living room back then. They called it a parlor.
But, parlors aren't important to me today. The only places that matter are the porch, the refrigerator, and the pond.
This is virgin land, and it's so quiet out here you…