Back Door

By Lynn Weishaar

In the wilds of Montana, there is a ghost town nestled in the hills. Few trees dot the landscape and tumble weeds roll down the silent street. The buildings are weathered by time and the elements. You walk up to the back door of one of the buildings, through the window you can see what must have been the kitchen. You imagine a freshly baked pie cooling on the window sill and the smell of baking bread in the oven. You start to hear the sounds of a bustling town behind you and the leaves of the tree rustling in the soft breeze. You take a breath, reaching for the knob to enter and here your journey begins...