Monday, November 16, 2015
Home Once Sweet
The house sat in the middle of the street. The tall maple in the front yard had already changed from its deep lush green to beautiful shades of yellow, rust and orange. The wide floor boards of the front porch were warped and in needed repair. Once painted a soft blue, they were now worn and gray. The wide planks of the houses façade once painted off white was now dingy and in need of a fresh coat of paint. The front door, painted a dull red with a large window collected the sun light on a sunny day. Now it sits dusty and dirty catching no light at all.
The house had served the family well. The family is gone though and the house stands alone. The rooms are bare. The birthday parties gathered in here are mere memories, and one could almost hear the walls cry as the foundation settles in the ground. No one is here, and the house is cold, empty, void of life.
If walls could talk, the stories this house could tell; the joy of childhood, the pains of teenagers; cries of broken toys and tears from broken hearts. All of this lived within these walls, but now only the memories remain. The house seems to sigh as the wind whips through her cracks around the windows. Winter is coming, and the house longs for its’ owners. The warmth of an active fireplace where logs once warmed the room and people once cuddled around it is replaced by a cold empty fireplace, void of heat or embers.
In the kitchen the cupboards are bare. All that can be heard is the slam of the back screen door broken off its hinge. Upstairs the rooms are empty and silent. The fuss and arguments over the bathroom quieted. The phone has stopped ringing, and the echo of conversations resound all over the house.
The laughter has gone. The owners have moved on, leaving the house to sit and morn the loss of a home.