Gone But Not Forgotten

Gone but not forgotten…

It sits there,
waiting like a long lost friend,
gently beckoning to go back in time,
a time before the tall wildflowers teased the outer walls
and before the gravel drive became invisible
beneath the grasses,
its eyes seem to brighten in the sun,
reflecting back the images of a time long ago
in fractured mirrors and panes of dirty glass,
and although the timbers and bricks
appear older now,
they still remain a solid sense of strength,
proudly standing,
the front steps creak with quiet enthusiasm
at their visitor,
and the porch echoes the gratitude of the company
that will ease its solitude for a while,
“Hello,” the door whispers as it brushes against the floor,
“Come in,” it requests as panes rattle in the frame
and a long, dark hallway seems to lighten
and smile with delight,
flashes of gold and yellow accenting its panels of brown
and extending welcoming arms,
inviting one to enter beneath the spiders’ tapestries,
each tinted with silver that winks at the visitor,
quiet footsteps walk where others before have tread,
a slow shuffle alternating
with the whispers of the house
as they have their own private conversation,
an opening to the left of the hall leads to a room
filled with objects playfully engaging in a game
of Guess Who as they remain covered with sheets
to disguise their identity,
yet with a quick and equally playful whisk
the sheets, in a move of southern hospitality,
reveal a comfortable location for the visitor
to sit and chat for a while,
“Coffee,” wordlessly asks the table,
“Or, perhaps tea,”
wonders a silver teacup and kettle,
waiting patiently on a silver tray
that sits upon its cherry support,
“Hello and goodbye again,” giggles the breeze,
entering through an open window
and leaving the same way after circling about the room,
checking on its companions,
curious about the visitor
and the reason for the visit,
but then anxious to be on its way,
to whisper the stories to others in other locations,
the air that remains begins to drift about,
and in its arms it carries the aroma of cobbler,
freshly baked and topped with cinnamon,
an aroma followed to an adjoining room where
dust envelopes an ancient table in a loving embrace
beneath an elegant chandelier of gold and crystal
that hangs above like a spotlight
observing the dance of time
and neglect
while a basin sits nearby
dry of any signs of its own life,
white porcelain decorated by rust
and a restless spider exploring his world,
once the shelves held plates of blue and white,
willows,
but now they sit empty,
reaching out their arms, asking for purpose,
and yet comforted by the rays of hope
beaming in through a window
with silent words of encouragement,
“It will be alright,”
“Yes,” the cabinets reply,
“Yes, it will,”
and the walls exhale a stagnant stillness
with the sound of a long sigh
as the reawakening begins,
and the floors inhale new life
as sensation begins to pass through the wires
and word of the visitor spreads throughout,
“Good to see you,”
thinks an oil lamp to itself,
as footsteps pass,
gliding across the planks to a room nearby,
“Stay with us,”
the door moans as it opens in to the room,
the eyes within the walls peer inward,
a book about birds sits on a yellowed settee
to differentiate the cardinals from the wrens
as they peck about the sill with a message not yet decoded,
on a dresser awaits a hand held mirror
glancing toward the eyes of the house,
echoing the afternoon storms rolling in,
“Stay with us,”
an invitation extended by a bed now covered
with violet flowers wrapped in stems of green
on what was once a blanket of snowy white,
“Yes,” the visitor replies in thought alone,
lying upon the familiar mattress
until fading into a misty cloud of dust,
gone but not forgotten,
and home once again.