There’s a little shack down here by the river. No one lives in it, and I don’t know who owns it. It’s one of those forgotten pieces of property. Someone has a piece of paper about it somewhere, but who and where they are is anyone’s guess. Oh, I could go to the town office and find out, but I’m not interested in administrative records. I’m interested in people.
 |
| Forgotten. |
I’m interested in why somebody doesn’t care about this. It’s a wreck, to be sure, but it could be
made livable again. Four seasons might
be hard to deal with unless you’re really tough and don’t mind the cold, but
three seasons could definitely work. I
wonder why they don’t care anymore. It
might be shabby, but you’d be hard pressed to find a prettier view or better
fishing. Yet year after year, no one
comes. That’s what I’m interested
in. Not the deed. The motive.
Maybe it’s old age.
Maybe it’s boredom. Maybe it’s
exhaustion. But there’s a piece of paper
somewhere that says this belongs to someone and no one else can come here. That must be a mighty strong piece of
paper. Or perhaps we’re all just so well
trained. Most of us are law-abiding
citizens, so we dutifully pass on by.
Once in a while, I sure would like to be a bandit, though.
But I’m not, so I’ll continue to sneak here and take pretty
pictures of the place that no one cares about.
