Feeling a little melancholy and nostalgic tonight. It’s been an emotional day for many reasons. While working in the silence of my office today, I kept hearing sounds, even got up once to check and see if something was going on in my yard. But there was nothing there. So now with my husband in bed and in silence again, I felt this poem coming on. It’s probably not my final draft, but I needed to get it down on paper while the thoughts were fresh in my mind. (May 29, 2017)
THE SOUNDS OF OLD HOUSES
There’s something about an old house
As its age begins to set in
Faint sounds you barely can hear them
But they speak of things that have been.
Sounds of the past when you’re walking
As the floorboards complain in the night;
Seems like I can still hear the footsteps
Of days so happy and bright.
When children played, laughter still ringing;
Piano surrounded by singing.
The walls pick up echos of family
The food and the fellowship sweet
The sounds of happy communion
As loved ones in the hallway we meet.
The stair steps bear imprints of feet long ago
The many trips made up and down
The bannisters loosened by tightly gripped hands
They too have their own special sound.
And even the silence holds memories
Of the cats who have called this their home
Who ran room to room on soft padded feet
As through this big house they did roam
When we’re busy with the sounds of our living
With cooking and TV and such
A cacophany of multi-dimensions
We don’t notice the house sounds so much
But when I’m alone with my reading and thoughts
The house brings its sounds to me there
The groaning and creaking of its boards and my bones
As the process of aging we share
Old houses, old people, together should live
We match up so nicely you see
We share memories and blessings together
This old house, and its sounds, and me.
Written by Joan Rowden Hart 05/29/17
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