Holly Hill to be sold
- and why, do you ask, should the fabled and dear establishment known
as Holly Hill be thus dismembered and cast asunder, the last tower to
crumble before the onward rushing ravenous hordes known
the woods to fall groaning under the cold steel blades of the
buchehawgs, the deer to scatter mindless in terror to the forever-
lost freeway meridans, thence likely to find a sad end under the
wheels of some passing cell-zombie-in-a-minivan...
the birds to return in shock (if at all), when the noise and dust of
the clearcutting departed, to find only a briefly muddy desert
suddenly mysteriously sprouting construction equiptment and square
piles of rough stones...
and the house itself, abandoned, empty, bereft of companionship,
becoming ever more dampish and mildewy, thus morosely lingering on
for a few cosmicaly-insignificant moments as some sort of garish
caricature of a once-fine country mansion gone to seed, the quaint
style and fading historical significance drawing a steadily-dimishing
stream of the curious, until at last it too fell under the wrecking
bars of the savages...
would anyone know of the ancient goat yard upon the hill, or the
hours and days of happiness (and sorrow) known there by this passing
even now, the mounds of remembrance and memorial vanish into the
earth under the relentles rain of Time.
or would at last those few remaining sheltering pines fall too, no
longer allowed to remain even as a few token tall trees in someone's
anonymous suburban backyard...