Dilapidation

I took pictures of this house the other day on my way home from work. I drive past it twice everyday, and slow down each time. That is how beautiful it is, covered in vines with shingles hanging precariously from the roof's edge, paint chipping from every surface, and windows shut to the world. It is a house of poems, of time passing, of beauty and sadness in one. And these pictures hardly do it justice, but I couldn't not take them. This house needed saving, even if only in image and memory, before it was swallowed by time, and covered in growth and change.