This home stands abandoned now. Left with rooms filled with whispers of laughter and love from its prior guests. I walked in the front door and sat down in one of the wooden rockers. It squeaked against the old wooden floors. I could remember coming here when I was a child. Hearing the stories of how children had been born and raised here. There were summer reunions held here. All family members made a special trip to this house and they had a feast of many great foods. The children would swim, and fish, and would venture into nature and look for bugs and insects. I could remember finding a rare bug, and taking it to show grandpa. He said it was the most beautiful bug he had ever seen. He took one of his old boxes and went to his wife’s sewing box and pulled out a straight pin, and he pinned the bug for me. I kept this in my special place in my bedroom among the other memories I had collected through the years. There had been weddings here, and funeral dinners held here. It was a home-built with love by my great grandma and grandpa. I stopped rocking and sat very still. I could hear giggles coming from the kitchen, where children had helped bake home-made cookies. I scooted my rocker around so it was facing the big living room. The furniture was still in its place, but covered with sheets. I could picture grandpa standing over grandma with a twig of mistletoe at Christmas, and I remember giggling as I stole a peek of them kissing. Lots of memories here. A home filled with love, now standing empty. I placed the rocker back in its original place and placed the sheet over it, to protect the memories and never let them escape. I walked out of the house and shut the door softly, singing to myself.
This story was written by me for a post of Picture It And Write It
Who I am 