My Friend’s House

My friend’s house is quiet in the morning. The autumn light heating the large rooms filling them with sunlight casting deep shadows across the walls and corners. Shelves filled with books and antiquities, mixing with thrift store kitsch. Every spot carefully filled. Each place with just the right objects.

The only thing more beautiful than the light – is the silence. Long and heavy it lingers over the rooms like a cloth draped across the furniture. The shutter release the only sound penetrating the fabric.

Down the stairs, animal figurines look for the light just out of reach. The descending stairwell pulling down the glow and slowly filling the shadows.

It’s here I see the picture that I’m hoping to find. There are many of them in this place – at my friend’s house.

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