I was headed south this morning for a meeting and, out of the corner of my eye, spotted four small cinder block structures, time taking its toll. On the way back, I stopped.

These were little one-bedroom cabins, I suspect, as each had what was once a bathroom at the back. All of the roofs were gone and under the pine needles lay the rusting metal carcasses of old mattresses as well as a broken Clorox bottle.

One, built too close to a tree, was being heaved up and town apart. A little pressure and that wall would come right down.