This old house is now an obstacle course full of twists and turns and too many boxes. But it is new to us, and what we see as an overwhelming feat is overwhelming much smaller feet with adventure and promise. Overwhelming, it seems, means different things to different people.
There are stairs that never cease to go up or down, and light switches that turn day from night and shine small shadows upon walls unscathed. Once there were echoes, but they are now endangered by a floor slowly covered with the filling, filling of so many things.
This old house was once a barn. The yard was once a ranch. The creek outside the backdoor was once running rampant from heavy winter rains. I am told it will rise again. I plan to place a wall between us and the now dry bed before two curious boys learn too many lessons. I have enough to worry about without the threat of sweeping currents.
There are rolling hills and countless canyons. There are coyotes, lizards and snakes that sound of a baby’s playthings. We have left the forest for the desert and instead of bears in our trashcan we now have spiders in our everything. Instead of clouds that sit heavy across the brow we have sunshine that leaves the skin warm and always blushing.
This old house snaps and pops like Bob Villa’s breakfast. The air is thick with the memory of horses. The trees moan against breeze and boredom as they coax the boys onto branches and tire swings. They have more to give than shade and apples. And it is good.
There are dreams quietly waiting and others that go boldly into the night. I have a seat beneath a window, nothing to say and words to write. Now and again I see a smile pointed in my general direction. And sometimes there are waves involved.