The Wind Chimes on the Porch

Yesterday, while tubing down the Dan River, I saw this little cabin tucked into the trees. It looked abandoned. The wood was weathered gray, the riverbank was crumbling away, and the trees crowded in closer than could possibly be healthy for the roof.

But then I looked a bit closer before the river carried me past. A porch swing was still on its chains and a set of wind chimes hung from a rafter.

The questions came before I could stop them. Who sits on the swing and watches the sunset? Who listens to the wind chimes when the breeze picks up? Who casts a line from that porch in the hopes of a fresh catfish?

Maybe there’s no great mystery or story to be told, but I feel like I’ll be thinking about that cabin for a few more days to come.