12th Street Manor

       The tree in the middle of the yard was a flowering weeping cherry. The tree was half naked, shedding its coat of white flowers in preparation for the winter. The green grass surrounding the tree already looked as if they had been overcome by the embrace of winter, the flowers already fallen from the tree gracefully blanketing the ground around the base. This tree and the green grass were the only signs of life observable in this lowly front yard. The bushes that had been planted between the grass and the street, seemed to have once served as a barrier between the two; However now they were dead, brown and dried up. The planter boxes in front of the house contained no growth, not even weeds; the soil spent from years of miscare and abuse. This small yet majestic tree graced the front yard of a very sad house. This house, whose once white vinyl siding was now faded and yellow, was skirted by caked on mud. The roof of the house was in a terrible state of disrepair. Like the freckles on the face of a red headed little girl, so was the roof of the house spotted with the places where shingles were missing. The remaining shingles held together only by a closely knit rug of moss. Like a closed off portal into the soul of the house, the large front window was covered by tattered black drapes. Any hope that light may have possessed of entering the house, completely cut off. The driveway of this lowly little house was makeshift at best. Two concrete strips separated by gravel were all that were in place for any arriving personnel. The garage that sat next to the house was worn, old, and used. The siding of the garage was in a state of disrepair comparable to that of the house. No car was parked in the sad little driveway. Hundreds of newspapers were strewn across the front lawn. This poor old house seemed to be abandoned; forgotten in the chaos of twenty-first century life. 

This lonely old house had once played stage for many great adventures. There were space battles, and car races, and great fortresses constructed within those now sad four walls. The bathroom inside that house was host to many a scraped knee, and bruised elbow. The basement of that house had to be the smartest basement in the world for all of the lessons learned within it. The garage had once stored all of the wonderful tools of childhood. The driveway used to be ridden on by bikes and scooters and skateboards, never growing tired of the attention. The front lawn of the poor old house had once looked on at the games of tag, the squirt gun fights, and the wrestling matches. This poor old house had not always been so poor and old. It had once been a great and mighty house, one capable of protecting from the world outside its walls. This house was my childhood home.