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Once more with feeling

We went on a little tour of an historical home nearby over the weekend. It was a lovely event. Everyone was enjoying themselves, and I liked the happiness and the interest in the house and its story. But why do people go so fast? They walk through the rooms and they don’t look at every picture or read the plaques or inspect the detail of the stained glass in the window or the carving of the wood or the pattern of the rug. Nobody just stands there and imagines the people who called it home walking through a day in their life, looks for the likeliest hide and seek spots. Between the people waiting for me to catch up and the people waiting for me to move on, I felt like I barely got a glimpse, and it was such a beautiful atmospheric place. The experience brought to mind the catalog of images in my head of people throughout my life several paces ahead half turned back and waiting for me to catch up. In a world with this many people, I know I can’t be the only one who likes to absorb their surroundings and dream a bit, but I never have met another. Maybe that’s by some kind of design. In large groups we’d hold up too much traffic. 😂
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It is a sign of our times, who's pace leaves little time for sentiment. Honoring the past means to impede the path of progress.

More than once, I have been the straggler in a tour group. Gazing up at stone arches, carved by 16th century hands; whose genius I can only begin to comprehend.

People stare, as if lingering a moment is to commit some regrettable social fopa.

Having resided in my share of century homes and buildings; one comes to appreciate not only their beauty - exquisitely unique - but also the generations who've lived and died there.
To pass through their corridors without a moment's thought, is a sacrilege. And brings to mind the expression: "If only these walls could talk."

The tales they'd tell. Of events we can only relive via pale photographs, and faded memories.


So I'll pause a while. Run hands over sills and railings. Revel in sunlight through stained glass; marvel at the ceilings.
As the throng trundles by - unaffected. Blind to what I'm seeing; numb, to what I'm feeling.

There are a great many spaces I call home. Where echos of their past resound, and I've come to know their "ghosts" by name.


Sadly, those of us that still care, are small in number.
May we continue to revere and protect those sacred places, always. No matter how the world thunders by.
JustNik · 51-55, F
@SethGreene531 This felt very familiar! 😄
@JustNik 😄Yes, for me very much as well!
That's awesome.

Will be impeding a tour group somewhere near you, along with the rest of our little following, somewhere soon.😅