Tim emerged out of the surrounding forest, its canopy no longer nature’s shelter from the sun’s rays. Ahead, a few rundown buildings stand. The largest saw him enter, the paint has weathered away, the coat and the rest of the place had witnessed better days and like the other buildings in the clearing, surrounded by low grass.

  He gave an animal’s carcass to his wife, who enlisting a clay stove fuelled by sticks, proceeds to cook it. As imagined Tim was poor, worked not a place, the forest provided life’s basics.

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  He wouldn’t change it. The house was his world.

  The abode’s coolness came from a nearby tree, shade its largess. They both slept, ate and lived in it. Their souls were in that house. Rundown to those not seeing the real beauty, say what comes to mind or keep your words there. For them provides what millions don’t possess, underneath which they can express love, affection, unity.

  What mattered was the feeling of comfort, of greater value than outside appearances.