The last visages of the day’s sun illuminates the Spanish moss dripping from the live oak that gives its shade to this forlorn house. A bare bulb struggles to make its presence known through the window, while the clapboards seem to want to go the way of the front porch. As I pass by, swatting mosquitoes, I can’t help but wonder what stories it might tell, what mysteries it may keep. So many questions left only to my imagination. But a thing I know for sure: the termites are loving it.