Change is inevitable, so is death. I try to accept them both with grace. It’s with a sad sense of acceptance I drive past places that once meant the world to me, realizing memories is all they now hold. Each year there are fewer chairs around the family table and life moves on.
Houses hung with memories
Rooms with nothing left to show
Pieces of love left forgotten,
Of a time not so long ago
Emptiness casts a shadow
Over what were once happy times
Stories etched within the wood grain
Some of them yours, some are mine
If these walls could talk
What would they say?
Would they speak of happier days?
Of laughter ringing through the rooms,
Of children out to play
Or would they stand cold and silent?
Holding on to the sadness and the loss
From having been too long in the quiet
Life once thrived within these walls
They held love and tears, sure and true
But new turns to old
And old must die
To make room for the new
Lets not forget the memories here
Of family and friends, never alone
The good old days, when all of us were near
When this empty house was once a home
Writing Mountain Magic 