The Lonely Old House on the Hill

It was finally a warm day that year. Winter had come to a close, so James and I went for a ride on the Obion County back roads with the windows down to take in the first sights and smells of Spring. Though it wasn't a particularly sunny day, the clouds couldn't contain all the sun's beams and a few renegade rays were irritating my eyes. I rummaged through the cluttered glove box for my sunglasses.

I found them and looked up. Then I saw it; atop a hill in the distance was a house. It was unlike the other homes we've passed on this trip. It seemed to be looking at us with sad eyes, almost crying but very alive.

Abandoned, this house stood lonely and forgotten, used not even for storage. What once contained vibrancy and life was now left to die alone on property being used to park farm equipment. Even in her old age, after enduring the ice of many winters and the storms of spring and summer, her beauty still radiates. She was calling out to us.

As we pulled onto the remnants of a gravel driveway, she seemed to awaken, and, like a woman hurriedly preparing for company after not having any for so long, she rushed to make everything just right for our visit.

Her perfume was the scent of clover blooms, and the little white blossoms decorated her lawn. Bumble bees danced from each of the flowers humming a tune that worked to perfect the ambiance she had set to create. A gentle breeze rolled across the yard and through her glassless windows like an inviting whisper. We parked and got out.

James went off to view her architecture. For safety's sake, I remained in front, peeking in through her windows, straining my neck to view her second story, all the while trying to picture the life she had seen and the people she had sheltered. I placed my hand on her brick. With age it was soft, but still strong. She was a tough old lady: seen it all, lived through it all and was still standing.

I'm alarmed by some nearby buzzing, and noticed for the first time the wasp nest on the porch. At about the same time, I saw a mother cat moving around inside and heard the tiny mews of hungry kittens invisible from my view. In that moment I realized my ignorance in assuming that this house's usefulness had ended and she was just waiting to fall and crumble. Even now she was a home and full of life.

James returned, and we decided it was time to end our visit and get back on the road. One final breeze is a kiss goodbye, and we both stand quiet for a moment to admire her beauty a little longer. We then get in the car to return to our world. I turn and look back, already missing her and wondering when, if ever, I'll see her again. She also looks sad to see us go, but content and glad we came. Though a slave to time as we all are, she remains strong and beautiful.