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I Call Her the Confederate Queen

I got a call a few days ago..."they're tearing it down and burying it in a hole, you better come out." The first time I saw the house was as a lanky teenager, fishing on the river. It was haunting and beautiful and I'd walk up the long hill past the cattle to sit in the abandoned rooms and gaze out over the valley. I nicknamed her the Confederate Queen; old and grey and planted in the heart of civil war country. And I thought, as do daydreaming adolescents, that one day I'd return to the valley and save her-restore her and spend my days watching foxes at play in her fields. But alas I was pulled in another direction and 20 some odd years later when I recieved the phone-call I knew I was returning to attend a funeral. I'm rescuing what I can of the old girl and will try to turn those tin and wood souvenirs into art that will continue to hold the energy of her life.