That Old House

I can remember the first time I saw it so clearly. I had big ideas for the low, strong branches of the avocado tree in the front yard. I liked the sounds my shoes made as I walked across the hardwood floors.

I can remember the Beatrix Potter wallpaper in my room...excitedly changing it to magenta flowers...moving rooms, painting the white walls butter yellow, and later a rich green.

How many late nights did I lay in bed, hastily reading before an exam? How many times did I hop up the tall step to the back door, or sit on the old tiled kitchen counter talking with my mom?

Now the rooms are all emptied, the carefully placed picture frames have left their happy walls. In time the pencil marks on the pantry wall which noted how quickly we'd grown will be painted over and the faint scents of familiarity will fade.

But today, as I listened to the wood creak beneath my feet and the wind rustle through the giant cottonwoods in the yard, for what may have been the last time, I felt thankful. Thankful for life, and memories, and love.