grey on raye

An old house takes time to cool. The floorboards want to return to roots--in the nighttime they can do that without fear of being trod upon. Built here into the hill side it is no wonder the walls seem to cave left. Every molecule of rebar strains against the force of gravity and the sloping gutter that is our street. I can't help but wonder if there really is a beast in the basement-- one who feeds upon our skepticism and dirty laundry. In either case he would be well fed, but probably lonely. There is wisdom in these single-paned windows that heat cannot keep in. I hear sullen whispers of 80 years of memories etched into every particle of dust that coats these vents. I think the house wants a family. I guess even houses long for a home.