While driving to and from work each day I observe a little more.  This day I notice an old couch and chair sitting on the front porch of my neighbor’s powder-blue house - a floral pattern in shades of orange and rust - long ago abandoned there and forgotten I suspect.   Pieces of clapboard are beginning to take their leave from this old treasure just over one of the front windows.

I can see several additions to the house that appear to have been slapped together over time.  The beautiful, old barn still stands straight and tall, shielding the old, bay mare from the northwest winds.  There are several other outbuildings that sit adjacent to the house - a garage, a utility shed and a small building that may have been an outhouse way back when - all equally neglected as this house has become, each leaning in a different direction and heading ever closer to the ground.

I wonder again who takes no action to salvage these once-beautiful buildings, a testament to their farming past.  It saddens me to see buildings like these crumble one-by-one. It saddens me to think about who resides within, hiding in full view.

In some ways I can understand this hiding.  As I attempt to steer my life in a new direction, there are times lately when all I want to do withdraw, step away and hide.  There is no doubt that withdrawing, abandoning my dreams and calling it quits would be easier.   I can tell you that this path is a difficult and lonely one.  I alone possess the vision and I alone must press forward or hide in full view.

My commute to work takes me past this old place nearly everyday and nearly everyday I search for the old, bay mare.   Having owned a bay mare just like her many years ago, I feel connected to her in some way.   I care about her well-being and enjoy the sight of her.

And then one day on my way to work I don’t see her near the barn.   On my drive home from work I slow down, but don’t see her in the fields.   The next morning I make an extra effort to catch a glimpse of her, but she’s nowhere in sight.  Day-after-day I search, but can’t find her.  My bay mare seems to have disappeared.  After a few weeks I become accustomed to her absence though I think of her still.  Her image lingers in my mind, but I’ve let her go to where ever she has gone.

All else remains much the same:  the powder blue house with a burgundy sedan in the driveway seldom seems to have moved; a dim light shines from deep inside; the yard remains untended; the fields beyond the house are dotted with rolls of unused hay covered still by the winter snow.

Signs of life at this old place are very few and I wonder still who hides inside?  Who it seems to me is hiding in full view?