Blowing in the wind.

The big red house had a porch that ran all the way across the front. My mom hung wind chimes along the entire length of it. I like telling all the little "greats" about the wind chimes - since their grandmothers (my sisters) both have an affection for wind chimes as well.
Right now I can hear the wooden chimes that I rescued from my mom's shed - they are hanging in my back yard. I try to re-create a lot of the things my mom did, unfortunately my results are not usually as successful as I'd like. It doesn't matter though, because what matters is the memories and the feelings they conjure up for me. I can remember the sound of all of mom's chimes echoing through the open windows on the quiet evenings when I was growing up, and later when I would visit with my own children. I am so glad my kids got to play on that front porch because there is no way I could ever have explained how perfect it was. It is just one of those things you have to experience for yourself.
Last time I was in Wilbur I drove past the red house and was disappointed to see that all the shrubs surrounding the porch have been chopped down. I doubt if there are wind chimes either. It is like the house has an entirely different personality.  Maybe it is true that the people make the house - without us it is just not as perfect.
Poor old house.