Old Shack in a Field

Old, tin-roofed shacks, rusted brown with weathered gray walls and set out in the middle of a field, don't seem as common as they once did.  As a matter of fact, I don't remember seeing one in a while.  Sometimes, a field of planted pines will be clear-cut, exposing one. 

Wallpapered with old newspaper for insulation and uninhabited for decades, they're sturdier than they appear.  Old tin roofs managed to keep out more weather than you'd expect, too.  They stubbornly hold on to memories for someone long gone.

Years ago, before being old enough to drive, exploring old fields was an after school hobby.  Coming to a thick tree line, curiosity demands to know what's on the other side.  Nestled away in some of those fields, several tree lines from the nearest road, stood those old shacks, which were too tempting to not explore. 

Preoccupied with the contents and other interests concerning the exploration of the house, time would pass quickly.  Inevitably, the Sun would find its way below the trees far earlier than expected.  The encroaching dimness wasn't usually noticed until trying to read some old artifact and realizing there wasn't enough light to do so.

Suddenly, the shadows seem ominous.  Curiosity gives way to apprehension.  Getting back home becomes the priority.