The bricks are weathered, almost black in some places. Moss creeps along every edge of the house. A single vine stretches itself across the back side. Every window is collapsed, the chimney is missing pieces, and the roof has long since caved in.
Shrubs and other greyish ground cover reach down the hill and into the murky water below. The mud would swallow any bird or mouse that ran along the path. With gray clouds and rain soon to fall, the house stands alone with no support except itself. Over time the rain, wind, and other strikes from mother nature put the house into fetal position. The house cries to itself as the wind snakes through the holes and cracks in the foundation.
Every drop of rain that beats on the house releases tension. The tension between the home and the earth. The earth attempts to sink the house, giving it every challenge imaginable. An immediate response is a fallen brick.
No home has withstood more than the crisis–bound loving home of nature. This home is sick, tired, and starving. This home will not sleep until the foundation set in the earth is ripped from its position.
All places by any means have no character. This house is a character. This house is the character. In its own story it would keep a happy family, a mother, a father, three children, and a dog. And love. But this house has been given by God the assignment to be home to nature, in every stage of its life.
When it was built, no one can be sure. Nor the why, how, or who. This home is not only a house but it is a sanctuary, a crypt, a safehouse, a charnel, a yard, a lighthouse, and a home.
The trees cry with the house before the lightning hits the lake. The lake cries for itself.
Any animal willing to sleep in the externally horrid home is met with hospitality unknown by any other creature. Though it is cold, damp, dark, and unclean, it is an offering from life. An offering from life to itself. An Ouroboros of a home.
This home is home of the land, the trees, the lake, the fish, the birds, the mice, the ducks, and the grass. This home is the brave stead and shelter from winds too strong and clouds too thick. This home is an open door to humanity and nature alike.
Misshapen roots of the trees that cry, and the dirt that fights to maintain hold stop trying. They rest a moment. And for a moment’s peace, the sun appears. Warmth is restored to the building momentarily and the house becomes the home.
-JP
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