Sunday, July 28, 2013

a Sunday drive #4

  I love old houses.  They have so many stories that they would love to be able to tell.  You can just hear them whispering in the wind sometimes.  I saw a house is across the street from where [this house] was ~ it was torn down a few weeks after I took the picture of it, and I'm really hoping that they don't tear this one down, but I suspect they will.  There was a notice on the post at the top of the steps that probably said that it was condemned.

  I'm sure that back in its day, there were many stories told on that front porch.  Mothers, fathers, grandmothers and grandfather sitting in rocking chairs watching the young'uns play on the front lawn, or listening to the rain hit the metal roof.  Lots of sweet tea on hot summer days, and boiled peanuts, watermelon, and fresh fried catfish eaten there ... probably caught that day just down the road at the creek that runs through town.

  This is the kind of house I want to have one day ... this is the kind of life.  Out in the woods where I can sit in the morning drinking coffee and watching the wild rabbits try to get to my strawberry patch ... or the deer into my garden.  Listening to the frogs sing at night, maybe counting fireflies in the dark.

  A house filled with history and stories to tell ... a house where I can put those stories that run through my mind on paper and sit back and listen to children playing in the front lawn.  Where fresh caught catfish is first on the menu for dinner that night, with fried okra and potato salad made from fresh grown in my garden.

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