These Four Walls

I open the old wooden door, and a creak fills the space, echoing as if a cavern or place of burial. Something has died here, but it is not the rotting walls of this ancient building, or even the decaying corpses of rodents scattered across the floor. No, the true death that occurred here was that of myself.

You see, I grew up inside of these four walls. I called them my home, my safe haven, and even a place that was once filled with love and happiness. My childhood was erected here, and the person I am today formed from the experiences that I endured. From the summers spent wading through the creek outside, to listening to my father’s stories on the wooden porch on summer nights, many memories that I hold dear took place here, surrounding this old wooden house. Yet as I walk through that creaking door and look through each room covered in dust and forgotten webs from long ago, I cannot help but feel as though the memories are tainted, soiled by these forgotten elements.

Despite my innocence taking root along the very garden adorning the weed covered field outside, it was also taken from me, like a vegetable pulled too early from the soil, from this old wooden house. Life was overturned in an instant, and the bubble of safety that my parents had worked so hard to create, shattered. Why now then, do I come back to this place, and what is it I am looking for?

I take in the main room one last time, imagining memories of the past; my brother and I running through the halls, our dog dragging a stick as he followed quickly behind us. The smell of a fresh pot of coffee, and sugar cookies to accompany it. Small moments of home that one completely forgets, until plunged back into a moment involuntary.

It’s time to say farewell, and to put this place to rest, like my past self that once lived within these four walls.

As I turn to go, a gust of wind pushes past me, and the flutter of wings heard in the rafters above. My eyes drift to the old wooden beams keeping this building standing. There, perched in the corner of the rafters, a barn owl sits, watching me invade its home. Those black eyes fixate on my own, and stare intently as if through my soul. The creature moves away, and then suddenly sounds of chirping fills the abandoned building.

Four small beaks push up from a tattered nest, held together by ancient twigs and cloth, probably found within these four walls, and beg (from what I assumed to be the mother) for a late afternoon meal. Only a small corner of this old house is inhabited, but song fills the air. Perhaps not the song of human voices, but that of a gentle barn owl, and her hatchlings hidden in the rafters.

The fading light from the setting sun slips through a crack in the nearest wall, and I am pulled back to reality. I too should be on my way back to my own family, and where I consider my home to be now.

As I walk to the entrance, I look back at the scene once more, and gaze at the barn owl and her family one last time. The door creaks as I pull it's handle towards me, echoing in the evening skylight. Who knows when another human will set foot within this old building. I fasten the old lock, and a clank is heard from the rusty latch fastening. These walls aren’t as empty as I thought, nor death the only force at work.

Though this building is dead to me, and all that encompasses it, life still continues on. It is time for a new family to call this their home.