This aerial still steals signals from the air, if there's any to be had, but no one has listened for decades. It's a tribute to the buzzing that's going on of memories, the bits of history still crowded close to the road. It's a heavy load that these walls bear, just keeping their roof afloat. Add snow, and who knows how long they'll manage the slow descent. I meant to pull up sooner, slow up and admire the surrender. A shed out back has turned to kindling, and I mean to mark the exact moment that her home intends to join her. West Dalhousie is a long time coming, and she seems all the further on weary winter roads. I go slow to the top of the mountain, the end of a last long hill. When I'm there, the wear of weather is apparent even in the newest houses. They seem unbelonging, on a January road that no one drives unless they must.
January 2, 2018
West Dalhousie, Nova Scotia