When the World Breathes

An overgrown dirt road leads up to the large, Victorian style home. Beams, of Greek origin, support the roundabout balcony located on the second story. The paint, faded white, peels around the edges, on the shingles, and on the window sills. The house is nestled near the foothills, surrounded by life. The grass is green, covered in flowers: gold, purple, pink. Tall grass grows through the cracks in the front porch, and little daisies and prancing flowers can be seen growing up from the floor boards.

The dawn breaks.

Dew drops are visible everywhere from all angles. The hills surrounding the house turn purple and orange with the rising sun, the scant trees on the ridges casting lonely shadows out in front of them as the large, flaming orb continues to rise. Soon it creeps across the landscape, highlighting every detail of the countryside in perfect radiance. Eventually the sunlight hits the house, the rippled glass reflecting the sun, casting rainbows in every direction.

The house could tell you stories from when it had been in its prime: banquets, parties. The ladies, their flowing, brightly colored dresses. The men, their grand suits and shiny shoes, always happy to accompany their date, hoping to dance more than one dance with their affections. From when it had housed the little girls in their flowery clothes, playing dress-up with their mother's dresses, to the old couple that had sat in a comfortable silence, watching the sunset on the swing located on the front porch, enjoying each other's company.

The sun stretches high above the sky. It is midday. The valley is alive with the buzz of insects and animals. A flock of geese emerges from behind the hills, flying high above the land. They honk at each other, and fly in the perfect V formation. A hare springs from it's hiding place in the tall grass, startled by the noise, and takes off running. A bee flies down and lands on a blooming daffodil, attracted by the bright yellow hues the flower gives off. The day continues, and the sun makes its way across the sky.

Soon the day is gone. The porch of the house sighs under the weight of a heavy breeze as the sun begins to disappear behind the knolls.

Twilight again. Another ending. No matter how perfect the day is, it always has to end.

And the house stayed there, growing dark as the sun disappeared.

It remained vigilant.

Always vigilant.