Our house had a heart, and a soul, and eyes to see us with;
and approvals, and solicitudes, and deep sympathies;
it was of us, and we were in its confidence,
and lived in its grace and in the peace of its benediction.
We never came home from an absence that its face did not light up and speak out its eloquent welcome
and we could not enter it unmoved.
TYN invited me over today on this most beautiful of blustery Saturday afternoons. Like I, she lives in a house built in the ’20’s. It is my favorite kind of house. Ramshackle, spilling over with worn beauty and frayed edges.
It is a house with a warm BIG presence. Nooks and crannies begging to be seen. Stunning views the eyes can’t fully absorb. Color on top of color. Light on top of shadow. This house has it ALL. While I walked around with my gracious hosts and my camera, the Mark Twain piece above kept reading itself aloud in mind.
And I listened.
I couldn’t help but be distracted by the visual poetry of this house. Later while strolling the grounds, hawks flew overhead. Clouds blew past. Tiny white blossoms rained down from the trees.
Tyn picked me this dear bouquet of narsturtium, sweet peas, sunflowers, geraniums, and wildflowers while we walked. They sit above me here on my desk and fill the room with fragrance.
A parting shot.
Thanks Tyn & Harry for letting me and my camera run wild.