A wonderful corner for echoes, indeed, the reverberations of the centuries upon the current, old mixing with the young, and the current conflicting with the distant; thus was the corner where the outside met the in, and where hopes were crushed, or allowed to fly free in the wind. For a score of years and four, when two and one came to call this place home, amidst the wilderness of prairie and grass and red-tailed foxes, among the locals, and ones soon to be, where those of old welcomed the new, before the time of modernization, before houses conflicted with the view, and flood plain was a common term and occurrence.
Footsteps echo, ever softly, down the hall, one eight years later, the other two after that; pitter patter, little songs, many surprises, laughter, and tears.
Mourning came, went, and came again, only to leave and return again anew, a new experience to some, an old grievance for the others.
Many years transpired, and the arguments become louder, the threats more serious, and the quiet life succumbed to a ruckus state. Higher and more shrill they came, the footsteps growing more frequent and more sadistic as the days wore on, until they reached the paramount of the evil nature of themselves, and the downfall was swift, and hard, but only to give rise to the tumult again, and thus repeat the vicious cycle end upon end, till judgment day came and went, and still it endured, and so it shall, until the inhabitants learn what they need to (of that of which they know; but do not, or can not, acknowledge).
And so, throughout the days, the times of peace and the times of distress, the house wore on, among the cats, and the wild red-tailed foxes; and then the builders came, adding more racket to the place, and the rhythm disrupted, and this was when the disorder began, and thus one was ready to move on, the other to clinging tightly to his roots, and so the family came to a head, so to speak, and is in its present state of pandemonium.
