The Ghostly Foundation

The sun settled atop of the roof like thick runny syrup that drooped and scattered downward towards the roof trusses, gradual and slick. Wooden squares lined up in a uniform fashion. The splinters sprang to the sky, drying from the heat. A chimney would stand tall on top of the amount of brittles. Smoke rings blow high in the sky, evaporating. A pipe ran down to the lower level of the house, water bounced through the wells through the drain of the crackled home front. You would always have to dodge the droplets that would escape the gaping holes.

The address plate of three-nine-eight began to disappear behind and the under layers of the house. The white stale paint peeled and flopped over, like dead skin, chipping off onto the dewy grass and collecting under the hollow of the house. By each passing year the house developed patches and shedding from its foundation. Maybe this occurred from the treacherous winds of tornadoes that threaten to tear the house from its roots. Or from the pounding demands of the rain, or maybe from the floods that would rise, leaving muddy stains on the concrete and lower brick wall. But the house swayed with the seasons.

It was the rhythm in the air that seemed to formulate for each passing holiday. You could always tell that Summer was near. Beetles stuck to the heated stones, grasshoppers latched onto the tall strings of grass. Heat became movement and a broken air-conditioner. The humid nights are made for star gazing at a star-less sky, the moon shown to harvest all the brilliant balls of gas. Large bug shells would cling to the sides of the trees. Winged lightning bugs glistened like tiny moving ornaments, they hovered over the branches and twigs that lead the way to the backyard. Their glow illuminated dirt patches and gravel. Towers and towers of grass loomed over the rails of the gate, protruding through the open holes. The wicked wires of the gate contoured and leaned outward around the edges of the rail, it appeared to breathe out towards the sidewalk. Shoes climbed these gates of dent usage. Fabric caught in their attempt. The garage however, was a gobbling glump of dust clustered antiques, bikes with dangling chains, and boxes of forgotten burdens.

Spring would blossom through the awaken colors of the tree. Pink petals florist and created lush clouds around the outskirts of the concrete. They caught on windshields, and blew halos on the sidewalks. Spring left with each drop of the petals.

Winter passed through the sparkling hills of snow that soaked the inside of your boots and brightened your face with scarlet. The windows of the house were most evident in the winter. The house darkened and grew used to the night shade that came early. The decorations of swirling lights and a blinking artificial tree that played instrumental carols.

With holidays came aromas, juicy and familiar. If you stood on the corner of the sidewalk you could breath in the scent of crispy chicken wings, the smothering sauce of spaghetti, the tangy paste of peach cobbler, grandma's greasy pork chops and deviled eggs with a hint of Gain laundry detergent. These smells plagued the atmosphere and skipped down the street, with them brought loads of cousins, nephews, kids and drunken friends.

They accompanied with sounds of hummed gospels that milked the tension from the air, family brawls, the bellowing barks of a dog, the squeak of a rocking chair, slamming doors, creaking steps, a ticking stone, the sound of a screen-less door and ugly laughter. This held the equivalent of warmth. Memories wore the house, digging in the roots. But the house was wearing down from the paint to the flooding interior. The rhythm of the house flowed with the presence of a mother, lover and friend. The significant figure would speak the truth, with subtle humor and heavy wisdom. Her hands were the vessel of strength as she fanned away groping hands and kisses. Months pass, however, the house slips into a deafening silence. The warm presence cripples under the vacant interior and dull surrounding. The dim light has gone out and there is no presence to be felt.