Sunday, March 24, 2013

Houses, memories, past and present

One of the things I used to love doing when we drove across the country was try to capture pictures of old houses.    And later on as I downloaded them onto my computer, I would sit and look at them and wonder about the families who used to live there. 

Their dreams, their loves, their triumphs and tragedies.  

How much joy, how much sorrow, how much laughter and how many tears those houses encompassed.  

The moment when the house was bright and shiny and new, and everything seemed possible, the moment when the last person walked out of the house for the last time, and all the moments in between.

  The old house, left alone, abandoned, deserted, falling into itself.
 The front walkway, where once children ran home after school, or a stately matriarch made her slow way along to the comfort of the screened in porch.
Or the artist who passed by and captured the walkway in oils, and is letting it hang on their wall. 

How many stories can this house tell...           
or any of the other houses you pass on by every day...

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