This beautiful house is falling down. The whole homestead of old buildings are falling in. But what they once were, can still be seen. The place needs a poet’s observations, which I am not.
Look at that archway. I want to polish it and put a vase of flowers on the table beyond it in front of that far wall where there’s a shelf for dishes and books. I’ll hang chintz of red cabbage roses for curtains in the windows.
That isn’t a stairs, it’s the fallen joists from above, but it doesn’t detract from the lovely rooms.
I just want to know why we have forgotten to add the stately dignity of a detailed wooden archway to simple rooms. Why do we believe such things belong in grand houses only?
That’s the piano wall the family portraits above. Wool area rugs on hardwood. Geranium in the window for winter.
I would paint a clear coat of sealer to that siding. And plant a pink climbing rose by that doorstep. The End
Stone House Scribblings 