The deserted cottage is derelict. Roof and door caved in decades ago; vegetation thrusts branches through the window. Animals and insects make their shelters within the rotten, tumbledown walls. High woods have almost drowned all trace under their leaf fall, season after season. A high mound, with protruding masonry; an ancient chimney stack projects skywards, like a scaly old finger.
Although ruined, my home is not entirely abandoned. Amid the deep peace and bird song, I patiently await discovery, alone, here in the dark. Now just dusty bones, lying where I fell, deep in the forgotten cellar.