Friday, August 29, 2008

little cabin in the wood

emigration canyon road is dotted with oodles of interestingly designed homes. riding as slowly as I do, I have a significant chunk of time to look at these homes, and ~ of course ~ make up stories about their histories and inhabitants.

some are dream homes, solidly built and of eye-pleasing design, set just far enough back from the road to have a touch of privacy. one such home is actually what I call a "compound." the house is huge, and it has a greenhouse, a beautiful garden with wooden arbors and trellises, and perhaps a guest house and a carriage house and I think they're building some new kind of house on the property as well. slight exaggeration. but it is a beautiful property, one in which its owners have invested substantial time, effort, and financial resources.

others are closer to the things of nightmares. houses that were built carelessly or cared for haphazardly, and have slipped into ruin. there is no better word. there are a few that have been condemned, and you know that the inevitable next step is a bulldozing. at some point were these homes loved? did they nurture couples, families, pets? at some time even these homes were refuges for someone, were washed and scrubbed and vacuumed, and were home to people who lived, ate, and slept inside them. I am not anthropomorphizing structures built as dwellings, but there is a certain sadness that hovers around houses that have stopped being homes.

then there is the most current house on my "I am intrigued with" list.
It is set back from the road on the stream side, and the section of house that faces the street is barely visible through the dense foliage between the road and itself. large windows adorn the front, and they are mullioned, full of little panes through which light always seems to be shining. the house doesn't seem to be very big, and could possibly be just a single story cabin. this is all I know of this house.
oh, and the sound that accompanies it.
the stream is loud here, and must run directly in front of the house. so as I ride by, I hear the rushing water, I glimpse through the shrubbery and trees warmly lit panes of glass, and I feel a cozy sense of perfection.

and today, I'll let you make up the rest of the story for yourself.

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