...who always encourages me to write.
About a house:
Past the swallows and the wooded hollows a house stands, wrapped in green. It carries on with scraping windows and weathered frames, reaching its arms around the warmth inside. Those that enter shake hands with love and recognize the familiar face. All sojourners are welcomed here.
Cracks crawl from the open doors, writing stories in the walls. Those who search in certainty can read their whims. They sing unto the ceilings for watchers who are courageous enough to look above. Upturned eyelids are always rewarded, as the aged concrete and plaster show off so many yesterdays. Evidence of time can be lovely, you know.
It's a house of color, in every turn of phrase. Savor the hues and splash the tile, for variances here are most ardently cherished. Orange, burgundy, cream, blue, mint, rust, ash. Each is sought after in the artist's eye, she finds them beautiful every day. Leave the earth tones for subdivisions and architects. She'd much rather reflect the sun, and take delight in the lively paints that engulf her. They are her only sought after possession.
Love crowds the house. It stretches the seams and pushes the roof. Perfection is banished, and humanity takes it's place. The world surrounding may try to offer chaos and pain, but the dwellers reach in hopeful empathy. Can we offer sanctuary? Can we intercede? Can we apply salve, or point out joy, or impart rest? Can we be a safe place? May we be the hands and feet of the Divine, who values his people so?
Then come. Stay. Be.
No comments:
Post a Comment