Nobody's Home

Slender, whispering and flaming fireweed surrounds the gray-weathered clapboards of the deserted homestead whose torn gingham curtains blow among the paneless windows with the gentle breeze of summer morning. Silence is challenged by harmonizing birds who serenade the observer of the rustic vista with the ardor of a courting lover; cobwebs woven by a tireless spider hang among the eaves and entryway, catching unsuspecting victims who dare cross the threshold only to become the larder of the eight-legged trapper. Summer grass uncut falls beneath the soft soles of the stealthy intruder as it muffles the sound of pounding heart anticipating the unknown beyond the latched, warped and wooden door of the abandoned abode; cobwebs are cleared by a willow stick, the frightened spider scrambles to safety, furious at the bold intrusion. Slowly, the rusty latch lifts----what awaits the curious visitor from within these walls? Footsteps echo throughout the house, rooms are empty, pictures are gone, family and mirth are ghosts of the past, nobody's home to offer a cup of coffee, nobody's home to say goodbye.