The yellow stone wall glistens brightly in the sun.
The blank black windows stare out emptily.
The massive oak doors swing open on their rusty hinges.
As you step into the coach yard,
You can almost hear the clop, clopping of horses hooves,
the rattling of carriage wheels and the brilliant laughter of a young girl.
There is silence.
Peering into the windows you try to see the flickering
glimmer of a candle lighting the pages of a much loved book,
or to see the glowing warmth of a fall fire as children gather around for cocoa.
There is nothing.
For the lovely house is no longer a home.
It no longer hears the joyous laughter, or soft cry.
It possesses a hollow emptiness that only a living presence can fill.
No one is there.