I am always fascinated by abandoned houses....wondering what family lived there and what special memories where made here that are now long since gone. The strength and beauty that still exists when time, weather and the mere weight of gravity is a continual assault. As I walk up the steps I image children playing on this very porch. A mother cooking dinner and a father somewhere out in the field. I enter thru the front door.....a majestic staircase winds up and to the left with a landing halfway up. The banister is hand-carved, very smooth and worn. There's an old piano in the den cover with a thick layer of dust. The missing keys make it look as though it has broken teeth. To the right I see a box marked "keepsakes" on the floor among others stacked haphazardly around the room. The old floor creaks and moans with every step I take. There's a musky smell in the air of wet wood and mildew. I look out the back and see the wind has carried the ragged kitchen curtains out thru a broken window pane and I watch as they flap in the breeze. The curtains have turned yellow with age and are torn and tattered but I can still make out the floral pattern in the lace. I think to myself I shouldn't stay long for fear I have interrupted the solace of this old house. It knows I'm here invading it's privacy like an inquisitive neighbor. I walk back outside into the sunlight and notice the ivy that grows up the side of the chimney.... vines intertwining like the fingers of young lovers. If this house could talk I'm sure it would have some stories to tell.......
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