The BF and I went for a walk in neighboring Hillsborough, North Carolina. The downtown area has all the charm of an old small town, with gorgeous historic houses running off from the main street. I decided that I want to live in a house with a name one day, like the Berry Brick House or the Gattis House we saw. As we walked, the BF spotted an ancient set of stone stairs leading up a hill. When we got the top, I saw this view — a long walkway flanked by overgrown plants ending in another set of ancient stone stairs. It was both incredibly creepy and beautiful walking through there. At the top of the second set of stairs, it at first seemed like nothing was there — just a huge square depression in the ground. Obviously, a house had been there. Considering all the stone and no sign of wood anywhere, probably a fire. Behind thorn bushes and a few spindly trees, we spotted a chimney. And here and there under the grass and leaves, you could spot the edges of the foundation, most of which was still there in a perfect square around the hole. Leaning out over the edge, I realized we were standing on the porch, and it was hollow underneath us.
I can’t decide if I’m more impressed by nature’s resilience, slowly and steadily creeping back in to reclaim the land, or by humanity’s insistence on always leaving a permanent “I was here.”