The Lonely Cabin

The lonely cabin I knocked on the door of the small cottage the window steamed up I drew a childish picture faces of children, that when the sun came erased the drawings and, I thought of childhood. My brother had lived here, his children refused gave the cottage to be a gesture of goodwill. I knocked on the door; it fell in a cloud of dust the cabin was empty a floorboard creaked in pain unused being walked on. I turned to leave, the door arose and blocked my way I promised the cottage, a man from the village will come and paint inside and outside I will move in here with my dog. The cottage relented, door and window opened letting in fresh air and sunlight.