The chicken tree

The house stands on the hinge of the road, where the paved section ends and the gravel part begins. It's an old house, of a style you often see in rural areas, with a porch in front, and another on the side, off the kitchen. Torn blinds hang in the upstairs windows, blinds that never seem to go up or down. The house needs paint, the front steps droop, and the gutters teeter precariously from the roof line. But the grass is always neatly mowed, and every spring the clumps of blood red roses and wild purple phlox bloom sweetly.