It was a small suburban house, simple but adequate to the needs of when it was built.
Its quite large yard could grow things. With space for flowers and trees with fruit. Chickens who could then inquisitively investigate each blade of grass and tiny flower grove to look for morsels.
More importantly it was a home. More recently shared by a young couple with a surviving parent and then with a baby, before it was just three again.
In those few short years it would witness happiness, and sadness, joy and tears. Oh so many tears.
Unique when it was built. It was a clever man out of step with conventions and ideas of building of the time, who had realised many things. Each window orientated to best let natural light fill its spaces. Its curtains long since gone, would easily move in the comfort of the summer breezes.
Simply put, this home could breathe in joy as the light outside would reflect and bounce through its interior walls to create a place of love and peacefulness.
Its rooms, now not adequate by modern standards, echo in their emptiness. But as you walk its single corridor and through its central spaces, if you were to tune yourself you could hear and imagine laughter and dancing, singing and the sounds of play.
Now here it sits, empty and waiting its fate. Its next chapter. Whether that be of destruction or rebirth. It does not know. Or if it will be again a place for a family to live.
(Copyright 2021 Kevin Palmer, all rights reserved)