more word doodles…

There is a little house on a hill.
And nobody ever goes near.
Unkempt yard.
To say the least.
(Brown) grass so long that it is falling over and killing itself off.
Maybe gravity and mother nature care.
A little.
More wooden shingles on the ground than the house.
By a large margin.
Kids claim it is the home of a witch.
As kids do.
Adults just turn a blind eye.
As busy adults do.
If you walked inside, the smell would hit you
Like a punch.
Indescribable.
If you tried…
Mold, feces.
Despair.
For the number of empty cat food cans,
You’d expect the cats to be better fed.
No.
So many of them.
If you walked inside, the image would hit you
Darkness, cobwebs.
Neglect.
Wrapped in a decaying shawl,
She sits in the shadows.
She stares at the world outside.
A world she is not a part of.
And hasn’t been for years.
Car headlights going by, lighting the dust in the air.
And briefly illuminating her face.
Her eyes almost dance.
The only real life in this place.
Old newspapers fill any surface that will hold them.
On a dust-covered caked mantle sits medals.
Many.
And a photo of a young woman in a WWII army uniform.
You recognize the eyes.
Next to it stands a very yellowed newspaper article in a frame.
That which is legible says,
“Army Nurse Saves Eight at Battle of…”
There is a little house on a hill.
And nobody ever goes near.
And that’s a shame.

Note: I jotted this down on paper and was going to post it for Remembrance Day. And then I forgot.

Plus, it’s kind of a downer.

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