Cabin Fever

Outside the cabin, a smaller, child-size log cabin once sat next to the driveway. Over the years, a coven of spiders and wood ticks took it over, the forest slowly staking a claim, gravity wresting it back into the ground. We never played there. Who wants cobwebs in their hair, much less nightmares on the brain? There were bear claw-marks in the wood, for crying out loud. No telling how many creatures chewed on that shack, and the fallen pine needles on the roof left a musty Hansel and Gretel feel. Little children could get lost in there.

Finally, someone dismantled it, the children grew up, and the ghost stories surrounding it gradually subsided into memories of fear we’ve almost now forgotten.

one stone gathers moss— what looks like rain is just a cloudy day