Winter is over in this house, the skates lie on the floor unlikely to see another season’s use. The house likely seems to seem headed to a final season, empty and decaying, no sign of saving in sight. Books are stacked by the old chair in the parlor, mason jars sit unused and a pair of old shoes reside unused in a box. Who were the occupants that these remnants remained behind when they left? What lives were lived within these walls that now are silent? What we leave behind, what we leave behind. My desire to wander these rooms was strong, but so was my sense of caution. Though the house was unoccupied, the ones around it were not, and you never know who is keeping an eye on things.