The Old Mill

The old mill house that sat nestled amidst the slender young trees beside the timeless river had been built tall and long to accommodate stacks and stacks of logs as they were fished from the water and cut into manageable sizes and shapes. Time had darkened the strong wooden walls as well as the lights that once burned inside. The gentle forest breeze whistled through the chinks in the deteriorating building, replacing the louder one the workers had once waited so impatiently for that signaled the end of another 10 hour work day. The saws and equipment that lingered inside no longer gleamed in sun light that pierced the roof and filtered in through the lone dirty window near the front door. They were nearly as brown as the walls and would never again split logs as they'd been made to do. The forest the mill had been built to convert into civilization was slowly reclaiming its territory. Moss clung to it and insects burrowed into it. Nests and rodents rested in the cool shadowy places in the eaves. The river murmured softly as it splashed about the base, having long forgotten the days it was used to carry trees to the building.