it was only a little house,
two bedrooms, small in space, a kitchen, bathroom
and living area..
some woul call it quaint,
others run-down and dilapidated...
...but it was
a happy place....even if it
sat alone ...bar a jacaranda tree...out in the middle of
a drygrass sea...
on the outside, the paint
had peeled and the boards
had begun to warp...
the yard was dry brown
grass and dryer red dust,
the roof, corrugated tin
was dull with age....
the door, was once painted
a bright hopeful blue
but now faded like old
denim... on the verandah
two chairs a table.....and
an old cattledog....
the bell, a suprising ******...
but inside that ramshackle
house... that stood by luck
and will alone....
was a home....filled to the brim with love....
the old couple who lived there...
still held hands ....still looked
at each other with love and
longing.....still danced to the old record player most nights....
still slept wrapped in each others arms....
still bickered and fought
then made up....with a lasting passion....
still wished for, more days
together in the sun....
these are my memories
of my aunt beth and uncle
wilf.....
and the house,
they made a home....
out in the middle of nowhere....
for marian's. challenge #1.
we only went to visit these relatives, childless, but so
entrancing a handful of times .....they made an impression....
the title....is not the true address of the farm...but more an allusion to the moral held loosely within these words.....the outside
does not ever portray the inside....of a book, house or indeed a human being....
not meaning to be patronizing....just explaining
myself.