General

The old house is the sanity of these hills, the ever present home amid such change. I can remember each brick for as far back as my memory goes, touch them, feel the texture that has greeted strong summers and hail stones with such dignity. How I love the blue door, some years weather worn and in others sporting a shiny new coat, and imagine its pride in showing the countryside it is still loved. In my daydreams I sit by it in a wicker chair listening to the village, of the chattering wildlife around. I imagine that it is my home, that the calling of the years somehow takes me there.

General

The old house grew from the ground as an ancient seed of the hills born to blossom.

General

The old house was golden stone in golden light and was as splendid as a new spring flower in all weathers.

General

The old house with its centuries settled foundations brought feeling of welcome to the landscape.

General

The old house was the best of weathered antiques having hugged that lane from days of horses to days of solar horse-power.

General

The old roof had protected the house over the ages and would do so for many-a-time to come.

General

The old house brought the perspective of passing years in a world that had accelerated beyond sense.