Once - she was a happy house.
A bright red door. Green shutters. A fire always burning in her hearth.
In the winter - her front porch was stacked high with wood.
In summer - that same porch was filled with color.
There were children playing.
A little farther out - the cows grazed alongside the chickens and goats and sheep.
I couldn't help but imagine.
Another time. Another day.
She's just a house? Or - is she the keeper of family stories?
On this day when the day's news is just too unbearably sad.
I think - once upon a time.
She was a happy house.