Thoughts about a house
I passed by you today while I was walking with my son.
I always take notice of your grandiose form, your white greatness amid the dark greenery of your surroundings.
Your stately columns command attention. Your Federalist-style staircase leading up to the entryway is elegant and noteworthy.
I look again at the lamppost outside with the family name engraved on a sign.
This time, though, I won't see your owner stepping outside for a walk, as I did so often last year. She would cover her white hair with a kerchief, grab her umbrella, and go, waving to me as she slowly stepped into the road. I suddenly realize that I haven't seen her at all for months.
I also won't see the car of the cleaning lady sitting out in front, which used to be there without fail every Wednesday. The window shades and blinds are wide open now, showing a peek at the emptiness inside.
I see the for-sale sign, blue and white starkness. Those signs can be exciting....but they can also cause a lump to form in the throat.
I wondered....why are you empty? Months ago, still bustling with activity and visitors....now, no one. Was she the widow who lived out the last of her able days underneath your rooftop?
I begin to imagine the weight of the finality of it all when the sign was placed into the soil. Did she cry? Did she stand at the doorway and look back, wincing with bittersweet memories of years past? Do your walls still echo with the laughter of children? Do you still have tiny smudgemarks around your lightswitches and doorknobs? Is there still the lingering scent of baked bread within your kitchen? Is there a trace of tinsel in the living room carpet from so many years of decorated Christmas trees?
I walked on past, with just one more backwards glance over my shouder at your beauty. A dream home, no doubt.....but now filled with broken memories and past promises. A house full of happy times, I hope, instead of grief.
Oh, if walls could truly talk. What would you say to me?
I always take notice of your grandiose form, your white greatness amid the dark greenery of your surroundings.
Your stately columns command attention. Your Federalist-style staircase leading up to the entryway is elegant and noteworthy.
I look again at the lamppost outside with the family name engraved on a sign.
This time, though, I won't see your owner stepping outside for a walk, as I did so often last year. She would cover her white hair with a kerchief, grab her umbrella, and go, waving to me as she slowly stepped into the road. I suddenly realize that I haven't seen her at all for months.
I also won't see the car of the cleaning lady sitting out in front, which used to be there without fail every Wednesday. The window shades and blinds are wide open now, showing a peek at the emptiness inside.
I see the for-sale sign, blue and white starkness. Those signs can be exciting....but they can also cause a lump to form in the throat.
I wondered....why are you empty? Months ago, still bustling with activity and visitors....now, no one. Was she the widow who lived out the last of her able days underneath your rooftop?
I begin to imagine the weight of the finality of it all when the sign was placed into the soil. Did she cry? Did she stand at the doorway and look back, wincing with bittersweet memories of years past? Do your walls still echo with the laughter of children? Do you still have tiny smudgemarks around your lightswitches and doorknobs? Is there still the lingering scent of baked bread within your kitchen? Is there a trace of tinsel in the living room carpet from so many years of decorated Christmas trees?
I walked on past, with just one more backwards glance over my shouder at your beauty. A dream home, no doubt.....but now filled with broken memories and past promises. A house full of happy times, I hope, instead of grief.
Oh, if walls could truly talk. What would you say to me?
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