A meadow.
Bright green grass.
White, soft clouds.
A green oak tree every now and then.
A house.
Or what left of it.
It seems as if it had been standing for decades,
creaking at even the softest breeze.
In some ways,
the one may see beauty.
The elegant manner in which the moss rests on the sunbleached wood pleases the eye,
and the way in which weeds sprout from between boards light up the mostly dreary structure
Through the vibrant yellows and whites of the occasional dandelion.
But still,
after years of storms,
harsh winds,
and even a family of raccoons looking for a home,
This house is now just a skeleton, a husk,
It is on the brink of death.
What has kept it standing through the storms?
How has this house not fallen yet after all it’s been through?
Well, this house isn’t just an old frame,
One of splintering wood and climbing ivy,
Like every building, it has a strong foundation.
One built to last through harsh winters, and hot summers.
This foundation is one of defiance,
one that not even the strongest root could penetrate.
The spectacular resilience of this house is all credit to the foundation,
And those who built it.
For the people who constructed this house cared,
They cared enough to exert an effort enough for this house to stand,
even years after it fulfilled its purpose.
Though it may seem like it never had anything going for it,
This house still has had someone who cares about it.
This house is not worthless.
The house then collapses.
But its existence does not end as a house.
No, it finishes as a home.
Like it has always been.