first essay for english 1101

A Forgotten Home

If you’re ever driving down Lite-N-Tie Road with a little time on your hands, park your car just around the graveled curve near the end of the road, and walk a little ways into the woods to your left. On the right day, in the right weather, and at the right time, you will see an old house in the near distance. It has been neglected for many years– perhaps several decades– and the majority of the structure is in a state of disrepair. You may notice the way the surrounding forest can play tricks on your eyes, creating the illusion of a looking at a sepia-toned photograph. The soft, evening sunlight of autumn filters through the tall Georgia pines and century old oak trees, casting soft, soothing shadows on the faded blue paint of the house, as the aged shutters creak pitifully in the breeze.
The doorway is like a dusty portal to a time long past, taking you into a foyer of antique paradise. The hardwood is scattered with old treasures, and hanging up on the walls are photographs of unknown people; perhaps they lived here, or perhaps they were merely friends of the people who did live here. One can only wonder. If you keep walking, on past a two filthy bathrooms and three abandoned bedrooms, you’ll find yourself in an ancient kitchen. Small specks of newly unsettled dust float visibly in the few streams of sunlight that have barely made it through the opaque, brown, age-stained windows. Dishes lie where they were left, piled high in a rusty sink invaded by a soft, pale green mold.
Exiting through the kitchen door will take you onto a run-down, screened-in porch. The nearly-rotten boards beneath your feet screech with the stress of this newfound weight, and the wood itself is chipped and splintered in many places. Nails, deep crimson with years of accumulated rust, protrude from the dry-rotted boards, and what may have been paint many years ago is now nothing more than a few pitiful chips scattered randomly beneath your feet. The screens, suspended between pillars of maple, are riddled with punctures, no longer providing any defense against mosquitoes or other pests.
The door of the porch, as old as it is, glides open with surprising ease. Gently taking the now crooked steps carefully, as not to cause any further damage, down one at a time will take you into an overgrown back yard, tangled with tall weeds, vines, and many other invasive types of greenery. A path, just barely distinguishable from this green entanglement, allows safe passage around, back to your waiting car. As you stop and momentarily stare over your shoulder at the structure for one last memory, you can’t help but feel a pang of sadness for how beautiful and livid this forgotten home once must have been.