Whispers

The white distressed peeling paint, deeply textured black locust bark, the fading Queen Anne’s lace swaying in the breeze bathed in late summer sunlight… I am held captive by the silent story that lives here.

I can almost hear the echoes of forgotten footsteps, the distant laughter of children, and the soft rustle of a tired mother’s hands as she hangs clothes on the line. The imagined sounds swirl around in my mind, stirring lost memories that seem to linger in the air.

Who called this place home? What secrets are held within these walls? How many tears stained its floors, how many smiles warmed its rooms? How many arguments echoed through its halls, whispers of love linger in its bones?

Perhaps a couple who fiercely loved each other once lived here, but over time their love started decaying with the house.

And now here it stands… empty and quiet. Slowly surrendering to the grip of nature. Yet even in its abandonment, it holds a beauty.

©Kimberly Kaufman