He stood up and brushed the damp red dirt off his jeans.

We walked out to the edge of the lane, where the ground sloped down toward the ditch.

Nate stepped into the tall weeds, closed his left eye, and looked up at the roofline against the sky.

He held his thumb up against the horizon to sight the ridge from end to end.

“Ridge is straight, foundation is limestone, and it hasn’t moved,” Nate said.

He lowered his hand and turned to look at the sagging porch roof.