Wednesday, April 7, 2010

Many Years Ago...

Buttons and pale fabric lay on the floor where they had been dropped many years ago. A yellow drinking glass and a broken ceramic pitcher stood covered with a layer of dust on the bedside table.

The floor was so dirty. No one was there to clean the mouse droppings along the walls and where the floor-boards were uneven. No one was there with a broom and pan to gather the pile of dusty feathers in the corners from the pigeons that took to roost in the eaves overhead.

The hot afternoon wind danced around the room, breathing life into tiny dust-devils which would live and die in the blink of an eye. The white wooden door to the porch stood partially open, the tattered screen door rapped out a staccato slapping as each volley of hot air swept by. The tinkling of a windchime sparkled in the silence, and a lone, dead oak creaked back and forth; barren branches reaching to the white-blue sky, a low howl lifting from it's hollow trunk.

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