A few months ago, I published a series of short-short stories (also known as “Flash Fiction”) based on pictures that I’d taken. I had intended to continue writing and publishing these, but of course, I didn’t do that. (If you want to know why, read my blog post from 2015: “I Am The World’s Laziest Person,” because it is still true.) However, on a recent visit to Pennsylvania to see my amazing aunt, the sight of a tiny cottage on her property sparked a desire to write about it. So I sat for twenty minutes and wrote the following. (Yes, it took me twenty minutes to write this. I’m slow, what can I say?) I hope you enjoy it.
Once upon a time, there was a little dwelling known as the Wee Hoos. Though its footprint was small, its heart was big. Sun shone through the windows. Books lined the walls. Breeze kissed the front porch and tinkled the wind chimes. And everyone who stepped across its threshold smiled and felt at home.
Years later, when the wind chimes sang no more, when the windows had grown cloudy, and the books had all been packed away, the Wee Hoos still glowed with a special light. Its walls remembered the laughter, its floors recalled brisk footsteps, its heart (for every house has a heart) still beat with happy remembrance.
Love never dies, never even really fades. It softens, perhaps, with time; it changes shape like an old sweater. But it never goes away. So the next time you pass an old house which looks lifeless and neglected, just remember that no matter its physical condition, love lived there once. And indeed, it still does.
I found the video below, which I took last year, of the Wee Hoos in the rain; this seems like the right place to share it. You can see my aunt’s pretty garden there in the front. (Note: if you are reading this in your email, you may not be able to see the video. Visit this post online to enjoy the country rain.)