It's like this.
No shovel touched the snow in the driveway all winter long. No footprints. No mail in the mailbox. No light cheerfully spilling out of the windows at night. No squeals of elation, or cries of frustration were absorbed by walls, furniture or consciousness. It sat cold. It sat dark and empty.
I stared at it. I wondered at what it held in the past and what it's future would be. I walked it in my mind, living there, laughing and singing there, smelling the charcoal of the barbecue in the backyard, leaves filling out the now naked trees. I explored the vacant places in my own heart, the places, once occupied but now locked. I tried, yet again, to guess at the connection that houses have with souls, but I came up short.
All I know is that house has been in the back of my mind all day. That house wants to sing, like me.