To my eyes, patterns of decay find a more pleasing path than an untouched object. A roof collapsed by the weight of snow, side shingles ripped by the force of winds, substructures rotting, insects and weather gnawing the exposed surfaces. I can picture those windy days where a shingle flies off. Or the sudden creaking, cracking and burst of tinder giving way under snow's heavy hand.
At once I see what was, as a complete home, and what lies before me now.
This object has two stories. What was and what it is becoming. Nature repossessing. No one point in time, good or bad, right or wrong. Just an interesting series of transient patterns.