Inspired by Sue Vincent’s Thursday photo prompt.
For centuries it had been home. Built by some lordling, little more than a gentleman farmer, who lived surrounded by his fields and his folk in a gentle fold of the land, peaceful and mild. Then his line dwindled and died, the land was swept up by more powerful lords, and the house retreated within its copse of trees, on its little hill, and looked down on the old lands as they were ploughed under and transformed.
The years went by, and colza and cabbage lapped the foot of the little hill without ever climbing to the door of the house. From the arrow slit in the tower, crows peered down on waving crops, searching for the small movements of mice and lizards. Gradually, the roof fell in and rain washed the stone clean on the inside too. Grass filled in the cracked pavements, and foxes flitted in and out of the great hall on summer nights.
Perhaps the house would have gone to sleep forever, in its ring of ash trees, on itās quiet hill. But I wandered there one day and the ghosts took my hand. Its worn pavements rang with dance steps and laughter, and it took me to its heart.
ah ha – smile time; most enjoyable.
Glad it made you smile. I can write happy when I put my mind to it š
I love this poem. I especially love the last line. “Its worn pavements rang with dance steps and laughter, and it took me to its heart.” A feeling of love and caring but also of courage and determination.
Thank you, Patricia š I think I could easily fall in love with a ruin like this.
I already love it and it’s only a photo. :o)
Really good and nicely written.
Thank you! I’m glad you enjoyed it š
This is excellent Jane and I especially love this line: “But I wandered there one day and the ghosts took my hand.” Its how we would like to remember a place as you describe.
I’m glad you liked the story, Michael. I can’t resign myself to the idea that we leave no trace of ourselves behind when we die. Something must linger, and I like to think that real true happiness still resonates in a place that so many people have called ‘home’.
All of your real estate has secrets…but at least these ghosts are friendly! (K)
Sometimes you get lucky š
You paint a beautiful scene with your words. The last paragraph is so light and joyful.
Thanks Michelle š A home will always be a home, even when it’s empty waiting for its next occupants š
A beautiful ending. Is this how you feel about your new old house?
In a way, except it has never been abandoned so there are no ghosts calling out to rebuild and recreate.
Well that’s good… personally, don’t think I could share my house with ghosts.
I don’t fancy it much either to be honest š
I love that it’s ghosts took your hand and filled your heart š Beautiful!
That particular house must be full of them;) Glad you liked the story.
I like to think so š
Reblogged this on Sue Vincent – Daily Echo.
Thanks for reblogging, Sue š
My pleasure Jane š
Lovely. I felt like I was exploring the building with you.
Thank you š It’s the kind of place I would love to put back together and live in.
I love the middle paragraph and the way nature took over!
It’s an amazing transition, isn’t it? How weeds and saplings can bring down the sturdiest building.