Fern

On a narrow balcony, a sallow fern grew out of a plastic pot. The balcony had no door; instead, it ran along the side of a building, accessible by two windows. From the outside, it looked like they opened inward and not very far. I imagined the renter, or the owner, purchasing the fern, young and verdant, placing it on the balcony to make the building inviting. I imagined, too, the accumulated weight of passing days that obscured the needs of the plant. Upon initial recognition, they would have tried watering it, bringing it back to life. Too far gone—instead, the fern was left forlorn in the shade to wilt and die. 

No. 056

Facade

The scaffolding had fallen apart, either from the shoddy workmanship, or from the gusts of wind overnight. Walking past it the morning after the storm, it was unclear how long it had been in place. The wooden planks sat askew and looked weather-worn. The stone facade of the building had crumbled away, revealing the skeletal structure. The wooden staircase within, now exposed to the elements, began rotting. At street level the ceramic mailbox that always stood in greeting now lay crumbled in pieces.

No. 054