I am hiding, yes, hiding under a half moon behind a small corner of an old, beat up shed in my own back yard, a whole acre of it. The street light shines vaguely on my clean notebook paper as I sit in an old lawn chair we bought almost ten years ago in honor of purchasing this new to us, old house. I oddly placed myself next to the basketball hoop, propped up alone on its concrete court. Facing the constant, loud, pesky highway for a road I think of how much I'll miss hearing her cars and semi-trucks rush past. She won't be missed because I like the busyness of her pathway, but because she is the old friend of a road that takes me home and on weekends she comes to a screeching hush, an eerie shush. I'll miss this road and in many ways I'll miss this house and in many ways I won't miss it, like an aunt that you sort of like, she's loud, a bit obnoxious, but has a big heart. She is not much to look at, but she is much to remember. My kids have spent most of their lives here. They have dug more than a few large holes and have found more than many to them, rare and extremely valuable artifacts, buried deep in this acre. The snakes came in to this old house more than once and the mice found her friendly, warm and inviting, what with all her gaping holes. The stars were always so bright here, so far away from the city. Yes, indeed, I am hiding to get down my very words without apprehension. But, wait, here they are, my kids, running through the yard yelling happily. Well, good now, they're happy. The lights are on in this old home. I can see them flood through the windows and down onto the care worn walls, windows and doors inside. It's hard to know if we will keep her, She is a beggar woman, always asking for more and never paying back what is owed, but she does provide constant, warm company. She is faithful overall in the basic things of what she does provide, yes, but she can't help to give way to her aging circumstance. She keeps telling me that what does not kill her will make her stronger, she has seen many a hurricane and she is still standing, a wonder for sure. And here, thought mid-stream, these blasted mosquitoes have found me and from them I cannot hide. I must find my way indoors, but there is noise, there are people, the baby and for now I don''t hear her screaming. What a relief! And she, the baby, has learned her first steps here, her first sounds. The ticks of ink on the doorway walls indicate the heights of little children through the years. How much they will be missed! Her walls have also experienced and witnessed much triumph precede much failure on all levels of life. If she could talk her words would be few and wise. And like a good grandma would say, don't cry for me when I am gone because I will be in a better place. I will rest in peace in any case. I have done my duty and I have kept my word and now it is time for you to let yourself move on. Don't be afraid and never forget the precious memories we have made together.
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