This is a print I found many years ago at an old flea market, I have it in my hall. It looks exactly like an old house I used to go to when I was a teenager. It was abandoned, and the old man who had lived there had died, and no one in his family ever sold it.
We only lived a couple of miles from this house , and you could see it from across the field from my home. It was a place I loved to go to. I could go sit in the hayloft and read a book for hours and no one would bother me. It's funny how fearless I was at that age. I once chased a peeping tom down the alley that I caught looking in our window. Now, it seems there is so much to fear.
The inside of the house was strangely left as if the old man were still alive. His dishes were in the walk- in -pantry. His suits hung in his closet as if waiting for him to come home and wear them. The kitchen sink had one of those wonderful old hand pumps. The sink overlooked the west end of the field, and I imagined the old man's wife doing dishes and watching the sun set.
I walked up the stairs to the second floor one day and was hit by a wave of nostalgia so strong, for those that had lived there, that I had to sit on the steps to recover . I walked through their old bedrooms, each one, and oddly enough, their beds were all still there. I really never thought about me being a trespassor. I never took anything, only the comfort that it brought my soul by being there.
I took one boyfriend there, he was someone I cared for deeply. Usually I went alone. I remember he and I looking at the fields of corn that surrounded the house. That year we had so much rain that the corn seemed 10 feet tall , and it was so green. As we turned to leave, he cupped my face in his hands and kissed me so soft and intensely that I have never forgot it. It lingers in my mind and comes to visit me on hot August nights. I miss being kissed like that. It seems when you are married for so long most men tire of kissing, but that kiss.... I will remember. And that house I will always treasure. *Nita*