The sun was weighing down past the horizon and there stood an old brick home.  The house was no more than two-stories high and possibly had a basement.  Chlorophyll veined vines crept and crawled up the stained, battered sides.  This home had a story, memories remain stored inside the ambiance.  The wind whispered and hissed at me, pushing my body away.  It was a little unsettling so I went back through the ancient styled path I found.  The next day, when the sun was at it's prime, I looked around for the mysterious path and it ceased to exist.