Photo Prompt © Sandra Crook
That tatty lace was once so pretty. It covered those tall windows, and the light would shine brightly in the early evening.
The sun still smiles, but there’s no-one to see it here in this house.
Then the house was a home.
The walls and the doors were painted in rich and bold colours.
The garden was glorious with many exotic flowers, bushes and vegetables. And beyond, those magnificent trees would often seem to sing.
But that was a long time ago.
Would you see a ghost sometimes?
Would you hear a strange knock in the night?
Maybe? Maybe not.
~~~~~
Thanks to Rochelle for hosting Friday Fictioneers
Genre: Historical Fiction
Word Count: 100
luna's on line 
When the house was a home the house was happy, then. I hope a family with children would rent her, fix her up.
Or perhaps a ghost for a tenant? It’d bring back happiness for sure. This is lovely Chris. Happy I read.
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I’m so glad that you enjoyed that one, Selma. Lots of possible scenarios in that place I felt!
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Love this – you capture a sense of melancholy and decay with a very delicate touch and sensory detail ♥️
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Aww, thanks so much, Ange! I’ll be reading your soon… ✨
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I second poetisatinta’s comment, Chris!
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Thanks a lot, Dave!
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Times come and go. Times change. Good capture of before and after Chris.
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Well, we all know about time, don’t we, eh? Thanks, Darnell.
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Yes we do Chris!
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😉
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A lovely take Chris.
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Thank you so much, Sadje.
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You’re most welcome
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🌹🌹🌹
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🥰🥰🥰
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Very poignant.
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Thanks Sanda.
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your words go nicely with what’s left of that lacy web on the windows, from back in the day
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Such a pretty pattern, isn’t it? 🕸️
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All things fade, except the soul — if we have it! 🤗
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It’s true – and it is… smiling with that thought. ✨
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webs woven
craft art
tomb for flit flyers
tho eh?
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Ah, lovely place…🦇
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So atmospheric, Chris. A real sense of desolation, but with a presence there as well.
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