The Gravitas of Old Houses

by Nika





The Gravitas of Old Houses

Look around, we are all frantic.

Seeking something we have collectively misplaced.

Wasn’t it here a minute ago?

Our appetite for more coexists with the emptiness of loss.

Always in motion, we are frenzied and doubting.

Where will we seek shelter and solace?

What breath can soothe us?

We seem exposed, lonely and fretful.  We can’t sleep.

Fear and absence haunt our dreaming.

Always moving, there lives in each of us a desire for steadfastness.

We need the peace of place, the mercy of history.

The dignity and virtue of the past.

The only skill we have mastered is leaving.

Carelessly we have left behind the things that could heal our spirits.

Charity, community, hospitality, piety lie abandoned in the garden.

Needing solidity, we seek old walls, heavy with stone and brick.

Heavy with the weight of lives lived long ago.

Breathing air filled with dust motes like flecks of gold in slanting sun.

The gravitas of old houses.