This would have been a building number something post, but I forgot to take the camera.
Ezra wanted to show me where he goes to do 'airsoft'( latest phase and thorn in our sides), in an abandoned house and outbuildings in a sprawling vine area just outside the town. I did the statutory 'Oh that's nice dear' as he described sniping at someone coming out of the main house — we are a dead loss, sorry Ezra, wrong parents for this. Now if he was obsessed with playing the banjo still . . . now that would be wonderful — hopefully it's just a testosterone fueled phase.
Anyway, we did the tour of the mournful place and then set off for a walk up the hill. Scattered around were many other little dwellings: vine tender's shelters, each with a, now rambling garden, decayed interior and rustic fireplace.
In the last one, I found this flattened and twisted old fork, a thing of strange beauty and remnant of someone's, hopefully happy, existence in the small building.