The fall air brings a chill to the old house, autumn leaves cover the unkept yard and rustle in the wind. It is empty, lonely and sad. The furniture is dusty, and cobwebs adorn the corners of each wall. There is an empty nail where once a beautiful painting hung and the walk captured complements and quiet moments absorbing the powerful imagery.
The house sits alone just past the iron gate waiting for a family to come and make it a home. It whispers of a past where life filled the rooms with laughter and conversations. Shhh … listen to the children playing on the porch or the joys in the kitchen as they celebrated another birthday with cake and candles. You can hear the dogs barking and the sound of paws clicking on the tile patio as it runs after a thrown ball. You can close your eyes and feel the house breathe; yet, the breath is shallow as if winding down and soon to stop.
It seems in a way the old house lives, feels and cares that it no longer has a purpose. Perhaps it is even sad and lonely. Having no purpose means it exists without meaning.
It no longer shelters a family, a time when the house felt pride. It spent a lifetime feeling better, growing, a new coat of paint or replacing the roof. Once a new sunroom was added and birdfeeders were just outside the windows. It was a time of joy, a home filled with love, life, and living. People came to visit and always said it was a beautiful home, a good place to live.
The rain overflows the gutters now, filled with leaves and broken branches, the spout clogged and pulling away from the roof. In the old kitchen that once was the heart of the house, the paint is peeling off the wall and stains cover the ceiling where the water leaked in or maybe even tears from the house itself. The house wonders why you left and abandoned it not understanding that people pass away and children grow up and move on.
It is late in the day and the winds blow even harder and nightfall fills the house with darkness. In the distance car light comes toward the house slowly with their windows down looking at the house, even saying it could be fixed up, fresh paint, the yards mowed, and the gutters fixed. The house takes a deep breath and lets it flow throughout the rooms and then hears a key turning in the lock.
Point Of View
I have always felt that houses are sad when we leave, slowly giving up and the spirit and soul of the house fade away. They turn grey and faded and in time become a vacant lot with only whispers of the past left to remind us of the footprints we left behind.