The house is falling down, neglected, left empty. But the two stone pillars near the driveway stand. Eagles perched atop each pedestal, facing each other. In the background, crepe myrtles line up single file, protecting the border and sheltering the old home. I have to park down the road a ways and walk to the site. Through grass wet with morning dew, along the side of the busy road, grateful for the gentle breeze and the soft, sweet light. I used to wonder what happened but now I only marvel at what is left behind. Traces. How much beauty is sustained even when no one cares or tends to the place.