It was just a little house high on a hill that had been deserted a long time ago. The weeds had overtaken the garden and climbed all over the outside of the house; probably on the inside as well. It held a fascination for her. Every year she would come to this area, first with her parents, then with her girlfriends, then with her husband, then with her husband and children, and now, once again, alone.
She always walked from her cabin, miles away, to see if the house was still there and had it changed? It was a fascination for her. She saw the house change along with her life. Everything grew old and shabby without care and maintenance. The house was a perfect example of the changes of life. Marcy never tried to make contact with what the inside held. She was a little timid, and now that so much time had passed and it was so obviously deserted, she figured it would be O.K. to try to open the door and see what the insides looked like.
She trudged up the hill. The windows were so filthy she couldn't see anything inside. She walked slowly around and around the house; walked to the front door, tried the handle, but just couldn't bring herself to push and open. With a sigh she stepped back and whispered, "let it be", and turned away. Next year she would return, and again come to this area, "just to see if it was still there".