General

The hut had the look of a poorly planned enterprise gone badly wrong. The walls of rough sodden planks were haphazardly wonky allowing brilliant streams of sunlight to crisscross the hut like a crazy tic-tac-toe board. Dirt and moss clung to the grooves of the corrugated iron roof that jutted out, overhanging the walls by a good two feet on every side.

By james, April 17, 2012.
General

The hut crouched in the shadows like a sleeping bear. This lumpy den of thin mud-clay walls with a small opening a the front barely large enough for a scrawny child to crawl through, was topped with last season's torn of winter branches and browned bracken. All in all it looked as storm proof as a teabag, like it would wash away in the first decent downpour of fall.

By angela, April 17, 2012.
General

The hut sat like a timid mouse under the sprawling boughs of an ancient oak. The stony grey windowless walls were furry with moss that sparkled silvery with dew in the early morning winter light. It's roof was thickly thatched with coarse straw and a grey stone chimney stuck up like a solitary erect ear listening for the rustle of a coming predator.

By angela, April 17, 2012.
General

It sat on a shelf between our lane and a creek, a little higher than the rest of the bottomland. It's board-and-batten sides and it's shake roof were weathered silvery as an old rock. To me it had an underwater look - that barnacled silveriness, the way the three big live oaks twisted like seaweed above the roof, the still, stained, sunken light.

By james, April 17, 2012.

Found in All the Little Live Things, authored by Wallace Stegner.