There are seeds in every abandoned house, in the dry rotted floorboards and the mildewy walls, in the moss on the roof where sunlight doesn’t reach. The seeds are in the windowsills, in the clawfoot tub with as many rings … Read More
The calendar still hung to winter. But as they sat on the front porch, nature was bidding spring.
We used to wave to the folks on this porch.
I could hear the ghost of a roaring fire.