I don't take many pictures of my neighborhood.
But maybe I should. Even though I live smack in the middle of suburbia, every neighborhood has a touch of something exotic -- or at least something mysterious.
For instance, the lot kitty-cornered across from our place, at the edge of a private road.
During late summer and early fall, the whole area becomes a prime spot for berry picking, since the edges of the property have grown wild with blackberry bushes.
In the late fall, however, when the berries are gone and the leaves drop, revealing only the bare thorny brambles, the lot looks very different. More foreboding.
And you can't tell from this picture, but in the distance, behind the brambles and the overgrown trees...
...hidden in the shadows of the forgotten evergreens and shriveling apples, there's a little two-bedroom house. At least, I'm guessing it's a two-bedroom house. But it might be something more unusual than that.
It's not for sale. There are No Trespassing signs posted. And as the old peddler once said of Wonka's factory, "Nobody ever goes in... and nobody ever comes out."
I've often wondered about who owns the place, and why they choose to do nothing with what has become a potentially valuable property, instead essentially allowing the house and the grounds to go to rot.
Do you wonder, too?
I suppose only the apples know for sure.