There wasn’t much left of Darcy’s old fishing shack after the storm. The hut sat on the edge of the beachhead for as long as I could remember. Darcy was a name my father told me about.
He recalled Darcy as an old man who spent his days fishing the water’s edge, forever happy telling tales of his seafaring days.
A few times over the years I had ventured into Darcy’s old hut. There wasn’t much to suggest it was a home or anything, more a shelter from the weather.
It was one room with a crude table in the centre, a chair that had seen better days, a few shelves nailed to the walls and in one corner a rough old bed. There was a tin framed fireplace and windows with ragged curtains hanging over them.
Now the place lay in ruins. A pile of timber bearing no visible sign of inhabitancy. In the rubble that was once Darcy’s home lay all the secrets and memories of a man who lived long ago, all forgotten but preserved in the timbers now scattered on the ground.
Written for: https://scvincent.com/2017/03/23/thursday-photo-prompt-empty-writephoto/
Morpethroad 
Most of us have memories of that kind of place from childhood. there was always a story waiting to be uncovered…
Yes indeed so Sue…
Nice BLOG 🎶🎶💕 ADD my BLOG too!!!
Thank you, I did….have a good day…
Sad in a way
Thank you Raili
It evoked an emptiness within the words a lonely sadness. Nice write.
Thank you Ellen..
it has a special quality to it.
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Well crafted mood. Reminiscence.
Thank you
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Lovely and nostalgic of days past. Nicely done. 🙂
Thank you so much..