The old farm house

 The road leading to the farmhouse was mostly dirt and clay, marked by decades of tire tracks. It was about half a mile, maybe less, to the house where four generations had gathered, both in body and spirit, to live off the land as intended. As I got closer, I noticed that the trail had become overgrown; cars and trucks had ceased to come, and children grew up, eager to leave behind most everything except for a few memories that might one day fade away.

The house had seen better days. It leaned slightly, and the wood hadn't been painted in what felt like ages. The screens were torn, and several pieces of glass were broken, some scattered as if they had endured a storm or the mischief of wayward children throwing stones.

I sat there for a while, remembering what it was like to grow up in that house. It seemed smaller now, but that was to be expected. The front porch, now empty save for some old clay pots that Mom used to fill with plants, was crumbling and slowly returning to the earth from which it came. If I closed my eyes, I could still catch the scent of the land, along with the smells of flowers and wind-blown grass from the valley below.

As I walked up to the porch, I was careful not to stumble between the rotted timbers and opened the screen door, which now hung on just one hinge. I recalled how that door used to swing open and closed a thousand times during my childhood, and I could almost hear its familiar squeak.

Once inside, I glanced around at the empty rooms, except for an old rocking chair where Grandpa used to sit and read us stories. Sometimes it was Grandma rocking us to sleep, her soothing melody still etched in my memory. As I climbed the stairway, I noticed faded squares on the walls where family pictures once hung, evoking a sense of loss and frustration, as I struggled to recall many of the faces that only existed in my mind.

Nightfall was approaching, and without electricity, the house would soon be engulfed in darkness. It was time for me to gather more memories and bid goodnight to those who had once protected this old farm and to the souls of those who could not bear to leave. 

- Mike, 2025