Beside an old house there is a patch of grass that fluctuates in size with the turning of the seasons. Appropriately placed ledges and resulting shadows obstruct just enough sunlight to keep this particular square on its own growing pattern, separate from the rest of the lawn.

This year, however, that patch has all but disappeared.

Where there was once a lush mound of green, there is now a mixture of concrete and dirt. A crack, littered sporadically with clovers- the last vestiges of a former abundance- runs down the center. A pool of foul water collects in the lower corner.

It's troubling to know that the spring will not save the patch this year, but comforting to know that the winter will no longer have the chance to kill it.