Certain places really seem reluctant to release their possessions--and places do seem able to posses things as much as any sentient being; they claim flora and stones and sentiment, exercising their dominion by clinging to fallen leaves when brisk winds should have swept them away by from--reclaiming ownership of crumbling ruins with creeping moss and delicate footed harvestmen spiders. Walking through those places you feel not only a season behind but as if you stepped back in time many years. I often wander around these stone foundations and wonder what was originally housed here; even the most common homes or buildings are made mysterious through antiquity and dilapidation. Only remnants of whatever was built here remains, but similar to the yellow leaves of Fall littering the area, ghosts of the building linger past their season.
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