I stared at the black ink bleeding slightly into the cheap gray paper.

The Denver owner had just sent me a handwritten letter giving me formal permission to water June’s lilac bushes.

He had mailed it in a thick envelope with a Colorado postmark.

He had written very clearly that he only visited the property in November, during hunting season.

The classified ad said the whole parcel was being sold to the highest bidder with no reserve.

The property was going to public auction.