"For us, our house is not insentient matter—it has a heart, and a soul, and eyes to see us with; and approvals, and solicitudes, and deep sympathies; it is of us, and we are in its confidence, and live in its grace and in the peace of its benediction. We never come home from an absence that its face does not light up and speak out its eloquent welcome—and we can not enter it unmoved."
—Mark Twain, 1896
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Friday, June 18, 2010

CHIAROSCURO

La casa in Italia

In the small things that make up a memory exists a Barber Shop. It was located in the alcove beneath the stone stairs that circle-up past a window with no glass, overlooking a courtyard. One could pause to speculate the view but one never did.

In the small things that make up a memory exists a double wood door. It was located on the first landing at the top of the candlelit stairs behind an Iron gate that was always locked. The heaviness of the cement walls that surround the door were discolored in a drab shade of faded orange/red. One could pause to speculate the history, but one never did.

In the small things that make up a memory is a little window in a tiny closet; and a heavy iron rod that slides across the back of the front door as it opens and shuts. A door that was located at the end of the first landing next to the steps that continued on their way up ~ skirting the cement wall with it’s chipped faded paint. One could pause to speculate the wonder, but one never did.

In the small things that make up a memory one could pause to find God’s grace in the most ordinary of places,      …….

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