The never ending wonder of surprise. How many times have I walked the path that goes by this house is unmeasurable. Thinking out loud- I wondered due to the clearing recently executed around the path did the trail leading to it become more apparent? Whatever the reason the century old house has been there longer than I have and will be...
Today I found it by accident.
The clouds that brought a slew of rain yesterday glistened the tree trunks and branches, allowing the texture of the bark, stone, soil and growth to speak volumes of spring's awaken. Almond blossom confetti covered the ground, did the soul of the house sing in the background luring me closer?
Fortunately, the house is locked solid as it is abandoned and alone out in the foothills. Though the grounds are cared for: Olive trees recently pruned, irises green shoots waking up and the boars happy dig evident around the oak trees.
I imagined a picnic during the French Muse Experience, poetry in motion, girls in white, kites waving above, and watching the clouds go by while taking a nap on some old French quilt that surely would be of red toile.
How could this house have gone unnoticed by me? I remain baffled as I walked home. The sun played hide and seek amongst the clouds of grey, navy, white and black. Night was creeping in yet hints of blue behind the threatening clouds told me that spring's daylight would not allow it just yet. "Just behind the clouds... a blue sky," I thought to myself just like the house just behind the overgrown trail.
I promised myself to see beyond what is at hand. To open my other senses to what is beyond. To reach into the moment letting it lead me.
Certainly we have all thought about what story is behind old things, if only they could talk. Though they do talk, and we do hear, and our lives follow similar paths.
I wondered if anything I ever bought at the brocante belonged to this house. The thought of it made me smile. I am a caregiver to old things, lending them a hand into tomorrow. Their story holds a piece of you and me.
Stained teacup, pillowcase that has nestled my head, reflection in the mirror, rug underfoot, sculpted wood gathering dust, drawer holding bits and pieces.
Past, present, future in each step we take.
