What a lot of people don't know about little Jordan, Ontario is that it, in fact, is sinking—eroding slowly into the valley below (I'll provide photographic evidence). If you walk down the sidewalk along the valley wall, past the mailboxes, you'll notice where the ground starts to give way. It's subtle to be sure, but I would guess that in another few centuries my quaint little community will be completely subsumed into the great chthonic wound below.
It's nice, in an existential way, to consider how ephemeral all these places are, as are all the fleeting experiences that occur therein, in the grand scheme of things. It imbues the present surroundings with a vespertine (one of my favourite new words, btw) air of nostalgia. As fleeting creatures ourselves, I feel it's instinctive to venerate and aestheticize the procession of time (just as the nice folks at Ball's Falls have with their plaque in front of the old cotton mill).
I imagine pretty soon now I'll be moving on from this place.