Slivers of the Slices

Dilapidated Old Shack

Dilapidated old shack, I watched you for years, looking out through dirty windows at the canal and the Olympic Mountains, watching the bald eagles as their population dwindled then decades later began once again to grow.

Dilapidated old shack, I peeked through your dirty windows, trying to discern your ancient secrets of campouts and love trysts, of hopes of building a house there one day, hopes that perished not long before you perished too in the rush to demolish your view of the world.

Dilapidated old shack, just days before they bulldozed you, I hauled away your hidden stash of wood left there years ago by hands unknown.  Your precious wood warmed me through a winter storm that left me with no heat.  You may have saved my life…at least you saved my health.  Thank you for that. 

Dilapidated old shack, I still mourn your passing.  I realize that we are so much more alike than we are different.  I too stood looking out through dirty windows at the canal and the Olympic Mountains, watching the bald eagles soar, hunting for breakfast to feed their growing offspring. 

Dilapidated old shack, I don’t know if you remember me, but I will always remember you.  I looked out my front window and down to the path that led to your rickety structure.  I walked around you and pressed my face against the glass in an attempt to peer inside.

Dilapidated old shack, whatever treasures and secrets you once housed are gone now.  You’ve taken them with you and left behind only a memory of your existence.  Only those beings who came to know you best by sharing your view will ever have an inkling of how special you were and how lucky to stand there for so many years looking out through dirty windows, watching the wildlife live and die on the banks of the Hood Canal.