Burnt Cabin

" . . . bare ruined choirs, where late the sweet birds sang."
- William Shakespeare, Sonnet LXXIII

Back in mid-March, I blipped one of the windows of this burnt cabin.

Friday afternoon, as I drove home, a misty fog gave us a short break from what turned out to be pretty much a day-long rain.

I used the break in the rain to swing by and take a few more photos of the burnt cabin.

The leaves are long gone from the tree which points its bony fingers toward the sky. (The window to the left of the tree is the one I photographed before.)

The spare beauty of this ruined place speaks to me . . . a place of lost and abandoned things.