This chimney leans as the only remnant of the home that once was here. Standing at the top of a gentle rise, the windows would have caught gentle breezes for relief from the summer heat. Surrounding trees, now broken, would have shielded the home from winter's blast. The laughter of children would have wandered on the wind. Now, only the whispers of the pines break the solitude.
Even this column is now tumbled down, the victim of a March storm. Soon the kudzu will bury all under its emerald pall. But the pines will still whisper the story of the home that was.