The Lonley Soul

From down the hall behind an oaken door, a primitive warmth flows. A
sharp crackling snap can be heard accompanied by
a low murmuring snore. A soft flickering light glows through the crack
beneath the door. Feelings of tenderness and
antiquity are profound.

On opening the door, a hearth immediately comes into view. Flames reach
and stretch as sparks pop from them. The logs
rock and settle while slowly turning into ashes. Smoke stirs up the
chimney.

The fire is contained by a rustic, brick fireplace adorned by a mantle.
The bricks are old and the cement which binds
them has come loose. The bricks at the rear of the hearth have been
baked and fired so long that they no longer have
their red but a smokey gray color. On the mantle sits one lone object,
a picture of an old woman in a brass frame. She is
dressed in a flowered gown with a knit shawl over her shoulders. Her
eyes peer gently into the soul.

The room fades quietly from sight as the light cast by the fire dims
into shadowy corners. On each side of the fireplace
is a bookshelf filled with books of every shape and dimension. They
are old and dusty and many seem as though they
haven't been touched in ages. The scents of pipe tobacco and oak mingle
in the musty air. Beside the fire there are two
chairs on a faded Persian carpet and beside one chair is a little
table. A burned out candle, a book, and a pipe sit upon it.

Resting in the chair beside the table is an old man, who has gone
almost unnoticed. The reds and oranges sent from the
fire dance across the skin and warm his weary bones. His hair is thin
and gray and his face is coarse and wrinkled with a
pair of wire glasses upon his cheeks. He gently strokes a purring cat
in his lap. It is the only source of companionship he
now has.

The door is again gently shut and all is left untouched. The warm
glowing flames are shut from view. The scents of
antique wood and tobacco are only a vague memory. Not one book opened
or speck of dust moved, and most importantly
the lonely soul is left undisturbed as not to interrupt his
reminiscence of a lost loved one.