On my walks, I have watched the contents of this house slowly overflow. Bags, stuffed full, began to appear on the back porch, then on the roof of the patio. They began climbing up the hill in the backyard. I could catch glimpses of old toys, clothes, and the miscellaneous gatherings that only a hoarder can understand. The backyard climbs up to the dirt road that houses my famous trash heap. A flimsy chain link fence with a rusted pad lock was all that separated their bags from the illegally dumped treasures of the trash heap, just beyond on the dirt road.
Something has happened. The trash heap remains, still changing every few days. But the hoarder's home has suddenly been cleaned up. The bags are all gone. And three shiny new padlocks are on the flimsy chain link fence.
