The old house sat alone amongst the willow trees. It sighed in the dying dusky light, though the sound was lost in a sudden gust of wind. There it had sat empty inside, hollow of life for many years. Watching and waiting for life and laughter to fill it's rooms.
But nobody came. Years passed with only seasons. Decades visited, and moved on in time it could not measure. Age fell apon it's now buckling frame. It's foundation, it's life, was now cancerous.
The house was so tired. So it slept, dreaming. Dreaming of someone suddenly within, and the smell of smoke, and felt a burning. Fire!
Burning then, with a yellow summer dawn that smiled dark and ominous with storm clouds. Release of memories long held within it's walls, for all those it had loved.
Ashes blew to and fro, tickling the willows so that they sighed. They had stood for so long, much, much longer than their recently deceased companion.
Very near, lightning struck..


© M.E.Purdy