Reflections: On Old, Abandoned Houses
A stiff wind rattles the old screen door but the latch holds secure after 60 years or more. Frost forms on the windowpane. Not insulated glass like it is today.
Cabbage Rose was the pattern of the day, the walls were insulated with hay, whatever color this was, now stands gray. What’s left inside this house is in disarray.
There’s no upstairs, just two bedrooms, a living room, and kitchen where sadness looms. There’s an old wood stove that heated this space.
No kitchen table no linens no lace. It’s so forlorn, so stark, so bare, it’s hard to imagine that people once lived there. Who were these souls? Where did they go? Were they happy here? I’d like to know.
Did they laugh and sing and dance about? Did they live here long or move about? Did they look back when they drove away, did they cry and swear they’d be back someday?
I've made up a story (in my mind) and answered those questions a hundred times. But like the stars and earth below, there’s still so much I’d like to know.
So when you see an abandoned place stop and look around and let your imagination race. Try to envision in your mind what this place was like when it was in its prime.
Did people live and love in this place? Was there baby laughter that filled the space? Did they move on to greener pastures, or fade away to the ever after?
