The sunshine floods the empty room lightening the unadorned walls and the unused fireplace. It makes shadows of the clock, that diligent recorder of time's passage, and of the few pictures of little known family members. It does not touch the bust intended to suggest a shared sophistication nor the fruit on the table, decorative and untouched.
From here I came. To here I return occasionally, if only in distant retrospection, to remember that strange tranquility that knew not words nor laughter and that suggested structure and permanence.
I wonder if it still exists. Is the house now happily peopled? I trust that it is and that chatter and chuckles enliven all spaces, even those untouched by the sun.
Thanks to The Mag