i sit at the lake with my books. books to write in. books to read. my camera. and my edgar. the little spot i made a decade ago. a picnic table from lichened boards, jutting slightly into the water. chairs. a shady spot for edgar's bed. and watching me through the trees is a little white house. a house that stands alone and empty all the year. there is a different sort of sadness that echoes from a summer house that is alone in summer. she peeks through the trees at me.....this house. she hasn't felt the creak of opening doors or the freshness of the lake air through open windows in too long. and she's just a few feet from me. lonely through a tangle of branches and woodsy undergrowth. i think of her, this house alone in a little forest on a lake. i take her home with me and daydream. i think she considers me a friend.Tuesday, August 14, 2012
i sit at the lake with my books. books to write in. books to read. my camera. and my edgar. the little spot i made a decade ago. a picnic table from lichened boards, jutting slightly into the water. chairs. a shady spot for edgar's bed. and watching me through the trees is a little white house. a house that stands alone and empty all the year. there is a different sort of sadness that echoes from a summer house that is alone in summer. she peeks through the trees at me.....this house. she hasn't felt the creak of opening doors or the freshness of the lake air through open windows in too long. and she's just a few feet from me. lonely through a tangle of branches and woodsy undergrowth. i think of her, this house alone in a little forest on a lake. i take her home with me and daydream. i think she considers me a friend.
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Isn't it interesting how we can attach to inanimate objects. This is beautifully written.
ReplyDeleteEmpty summer homes make me sad too. Where are the kids, laughter, fun, opened windows and the smell of grilled food. I like the look of this house. I wonder why its empty?
ReplyDeleteSuch a pretty house. Should be filled with life!
ReplyDeleteSo lovely ... so true. A house as a friend. I've had many.
ReplyDelete(I know that you've bid a friend farewell just recently - i posted a poem by E E Cummings on Lisa's blog & i wanted to share it with you as well...hope that's ok)
i carry your heart with me(i carry it in
my heart)i am never without it(anywhere
i go you go,my dear;and whatever is done
by only me is your doing,my darling)
i fear
no fate(for you are my fate,my sweet)i want
no world(for beautiful you are my world,my true)
and it’s you are whatever a moon has always meant
and whatever a sun will always sing is you
here is the deepest secret nobody knows
(here is the root of the root and the bud of the bud
and the sky of the sky of a tree called life;which grows
higher than soul can hope or mind can hide)
and this is the wonder that's keeping the stars apart
i carry your heart(i carry it in my heart)
♥♥♥