With every time I walk up that hill behind my house, I discover something new.
A new shade of green.
An old caste you can see from afar.
The way the fog lingers in the valleys.
On every walk I pass by this old house, but only recently I began looking at it differently. Its windows are broken, the frames are covered in leaves and spiderwebs. The machines inside look old and rusty, like they haven’t been used in a long time.
Every time I walk up there I can’t help but stop at this old house.
I guess I am an old soul.
My thoughts wander to what this place used to be.
A barn maybe where farmers kept hay and food for their animals. A garage maybe where all the machines were parked after a long day of work.
This place looks old and I would love to hear the stories it has to tell.
My mind travels further, and images flash before my eyes of what this place could be.
I see candlelight illuminating the old walls and bringing back life to this empty space.
I see windows being restored so that the light can be reflected on the outside.
I see long tables full of food and a diverse crowd of people sharing a meal.
I see people noticing the light from afar and coming in through the large old wooden doors.
I see myself peering in through these old broken windows and find new life, light, and community.
Call me a dreamer or idealist. Call me a traveling mind because that’s who I am.
My thoughts wander, but only those wo are willing to imagine the new will be able to create the new.
Welcome to Day 8 of 31 Days of Mundane Narratives! For the month of October I will be a storyteller. Together with a few friends we will browse the forgotten photos in our galleries and tell the stories that are so often lost in busyness.
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