A dilapidated building- perhaps a haunted place. The roof fallen through, grass and bushes within. Who would ever think this was once inhabited.
A red roof with an opening to the sky so that I could gaze at the stars at night, the hearth that brought warmth as we sat huddled around, steaming cups of cocoa in their hands and he told them stories of faraway lands and strange people.
The kitchen by the side , aromas of the most delicious kind wafted through the air and made our stomachs groan- food of any kind that was sprinkled with the warmth of a mother’s love was without a doubt, the most delicious.
For passer bys, this was another old fallen building , for us this was a place called home. A place we grew up in, learned to dream, laugh, cry, our first steps, our first words- this place held so many memories for us.
A new cottage would be built here, where visitors could come and enjoy life in the country- this was the deal and it was a difficult decision to let go of our home but we had to do it with a heavy heart.
As we passed our home for one last time before they razed it all down, a few bystanders looked on curiously. Another abandoned building for them but our tear stricken eyes saw a starkly different picture. In the midst of rubble and ruin , memories came flashing by- “Home” this was , and would always remain in our hearts.
Linking up with Vinitha who hosts Fiction Mondays