Holy ground is a childhood bedroom,
Abundant in memories of a life, both gone, and not gone, they are ready to be picked.
Revealing of innocent hopes, dreams, fears, all are both strange and familiar at once.
Victory ribbons dusted by time, woodland critters of terry cloth, and lonely doll shoes that remember the long departed doll.
Each idol and relic is packed with bitter sweet reverence; their temple is no longer theirs.
Someday they will see light again, and they will delight new young faces.
The harvest of memory, unlike the harvest of crops, is not dictated by seasons - but by love everlasting.
About the Creator
Noelle Spaulding
I was once called a ‘story warrior’ by a teacher in film school, because of how passionately I prioritized the story over all other aspects.
I believe good stories inspire the best of us, and we need them now more than ever.
Enjoyed the story? Support the Creator.
Subscribe for free to receive all their stories in your feed.
Comments
There are no comments for this story
Be the first to respond and start the conversation.