Old House Memories

Tree branches scrape a song of solitude against faded windows and wooden doors.
I hear the whisper of love with sentimental creak upon hardwood floors.
Cookstove stands proud against wallpaper thin stained with grease.
The faucet holds one last drip in a sink full of dishes from the last family feast.
Mirrors hold fragments of dust from storms that blew through broken windows.
Curtains now frayed and tattered, blow back and forth, between scorched wooden frames warped by snow.
Thin mattress now brown with age sits upon rusty wires that traveled through heat, sun and rain.
Pitcher and bowl stand on table waiting for tiny hands splashing in soap and water again.
Old leather shoes sit in a corner holding stories from where they have been.
The house is crooked with character and pride as it holds on with a lean.
Raspberries and Blueberries tangle with dried brambles in between.
Round the corner waiting is a dirt road travelled upon.
Flowers sprout with weeds between tire tracks now gone.
One lone bird sings a morning song on a fence post glistening with dew.
Wind chimes clang in windy retreat as this day begins anew.
Screen door slams against the frame of door.
Spider webs lost to the great evermore.
Old House Memories once vibrant with color; now black and white from the view of another.