The french doors openinto the livingroom~
creaky floor with lots of gaps,
etched by time spent here.
We leave our scawl~
Boys wrestling daddy,
pillow fights,
giggles~
knees bent in worship,
dancing heart's sway to love's music.
Stories in each board,
cracks,
grooves,
notches.
Painful splinters occasionally~
memories of a full life
or perhaps a difficult life.
Many scratches ~
Was there singing and dancing~
or a pacing mother with a crying baby?
Possibly an elderly woman alone,
dragging her walker across these boards.
This livingroom,
this floor~
speaks loudly to me.
Declares clearly
its value.
Character,
Smooth...
in places that are
walked on daily.
Nicked but useful.
Well worn.
Steadfastly sure.
Still.
Inviting.
The french doors are open~
4 comments:
"The French doors are open."
Oh, I liked that.
Thanks for inviting through the French doors to see the treasures inside.
Splinters, cracks, and knees bent on worship. I'm there, friend, right there where the French doors open.
I also like the thought of "The French doors are open' Thank you for sharing a peak into your living!
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