Literature
Red Door
A timber framed house, where the sweet scent of cider drifts on the air. Once a home, once a getaway where summer days went with ease. Snow lay on the ground, when aspen burned and the comfort of those winter days were felt. The past seemed beyond reason, to never dare return back to such forgotten times. Time crept further and further, to stand here seems shallow. A timber framed cabin, smaller, worn by seasons, and left to neglect. My feet step on unknown land, a mystery to my mind. Relics of distant memories dance before me, back into this world where joy and pain occurred. What went wrong here again? This was a place once, I lived here once, but now not at all. Slowly I approach, once this timber house had a red door. Now, nothing stands against the elements, it leans. Oh, this was once a happy place. Fields and woods, a lake and sweet dreams, and this timber framed house. Nothing remains, how hollow this place feels? A chill crawls up my skin and checks my melancholy, yet
