I always feel as though this house is dreaming of its own past. It’s in a tiny hamlet a couple of km from us, and as it’s on one of our favourite walking routes, we pass it regularly.
It was part of a larger hamlet, but it is now the only building left standing. We’ve found the overgrown ruins of other houses in the woods, sad reminders of what used to be. It’s not inhabited, although the old gentleman who owns it does visit from time to time, and it looks to be in a fairly ramshackle state.
Apparently, it used to be a prosperous farm, with a well-stocked walled garden and orchard. You can still see tantalising glimpses of its former glory in the overgrown vine, mossy fruit trees and medlar bush, and magnolias planted against a south-facing wall.
Here’s the gate into the courtyard.
The little note says ‘I will return soon. Wait for me.’ I suspect the wait may be quite a lengthy one. Best leave the house to its dreams.