Home. With me.

The old, old house stands brooding, silent, empty, shuttered. Peeling paint, peeling memories, peeling years, decaying. Squeaking gate unhinged, cracked stone steps, black holes gape between them, Give way to wild rose and dandelions, crabgrass, spurge and apples. Skinned shins on broken porch boards; cobwebs make me shrink. Ancient knocker of green-tinged brass, dolphins dancing on their tails. Quiet the knocker, there’s no one home, … Continue reading Home. With me.