Tuesday, May 20, 2008

Write about abandoned houses…

They haunt my dreams. I see staircases leading up into possibilities and rooms with many doors. I feel snippets of life from previous owners. A faint scent of lilacs, and the squeak of a rocker on the porch followed by a cool breeze from a broken window overlooking the overgrown vegetable garden tell me stories.

I walk the hallways and climb the attic stairs. I know there is something I need to see, or hear, or someone I need to meet. There is mystery and sadness. Loss.

When I open the door to the master bedroom there is sunshine streaming in through the tattered lace curtains that dance to the summer breeze. A lone chair sits by the window waiting for me.

When I look around an old iron bed covered with an old quilt appears and I feel a great weariness descend upon me. I go to the bed to lie down but it is at this point I wake from the dream.