Old Houses

I love old houses. I feel really sad to see them like this. To me this house is still beautiful, still majestic. I imagine all the rooms. All the detailed woodwork and moulding inside, the stairway, the high ceilings and old fixtures that are still intact. Like doorknobs, locks and hinges. Probably some of the original glass is still in the windows. At one point someone must have really loved this house.

 This is a storybook house. It reminds me of the "The Secret Garden." It's tucked away and hidden. I can imagine myself wandering through the woods and stumbling upon it. Then bringing paint and other things to fix it up. I read a book once when I was a kid about a girl who found a house and did that, but I can't remember the name.

When I see a house like this, it makes me think of the little farm family that once lived here. If I try hard enough I can still see kids running through the yard laughing and mama hanging clothes on the line. Simpler times, simple joys, peacefulness and contentment. Things are so different now. I just want a bit of this.