The house stands tall.
Its roof peak points to the heavens.
Its majestic form seems to speak of treasure within.
I’m drawn up the long drive by an irresistible force.
There’s a hand print on the door.
The imprint of a face pressed to glass beckons me inside.
As I open the door a smudge of dirt left by a shoe points the way.
At first glance elegance meets the eye.
delicate stained glass,
a sparkling chandelier
all boast of glorious days from years long past.
But it’s the common things that hold my gaze.
Mirrors smudged by dirty fingers.
Carpet worn by small feet.
Floors scratched by toys.
Walls made dingy by little hands.
The house comes to life for me.
Laughter fills the rooms.
The trample of feet resound through the hall.
Blocks crash to the floor.
I can almost feel young arms wrapped around me,
A soft face pressed to my cheek,
Warm hands grasping mine,
A wet kiss planted on my face.
My heart is full.
Treasure indeed fills this house.
There’s no one richer than I.