Deep within an unknown forest, hidden beneath entangling vines, was a lonely house made of ancient stone. Tucked away in a strange location unknown to any mortal man; only to the beasts and birds who  roamed therein and perched thereby on its rough and cold stones. The wind would howl, shivers of gales through the vacant house, bursting open its fragile windows, sending dust through the chimney and out the door. Sturdy was the house; its foundation of stone proved to be trustworthy, reliable, and strong. Even still, its fireplace lay alone, with no spark to give it life, no wood to fuel energy, no fire to warm a broken heart. A crow flies over the house and sees it  from above: fortified and robust, yet dark, cold, and alone.

The crack of tree branches echoed throughout the dark forest as small boots stomped over the dead brush and twigs that filled the ground. With a torch in hand, the faithful explorer began moving swiftly, breathing heavily, going she knew not where and longing for she knew not what: but she knew she had to get away. She was anxious yet happy to sit in the silence, listening to her voice sing melodic sonatas. Feelings of despair rushed over the faithful explorer as she grappled the loathing by the throat and shook it violently: “there has to be a better way,” she thought.

Nevertheless, despair loomed, surging like a vulture hurtling to its dead prey. Tears rolled as she choked on her own breath, her face buried between her knees. There was no going back, and  into the unknown she wandered, trusting she knew not whom, but trusting nonetheless.

She lifted her torch high above her head, as she squinted her eyes to make out the peculiar looking figure thirty paces in front of her: ’twas a house. As she began pacing forward, meticulously planning every step as if she was learning a new dance, her heart began to race.

“What a queer place to build a house,” she thought as she began walking more briskly, excited to see what was inside. In excitement, she walked through the open door, and glanced around the dark walls of the vacant house, torch held high, making out the dust filled corners and cold empty stones. Not in despair, not even in dismay did she look, but in love and compassion she found the vacant house not in want, but in plenty, providing a firm robust foundation, and a fortified trustworthy place to call home. She began her work, applying her hand graciously to whatever task she put her mind to: scrubbing the walls, sweeping the floors, furnishing the rooms, and brightening the darkest spaces. A noble task indeed, and equally as satisfying.

A crow flies over the house and sees it from above; vacant it is no more. It stands alive and cheerful, as light burst through its windows on all four corners. The faithful explorer reclined in satisfaction, gazing around at the work of her hands. The fire was ablaze, sending warmth throughout her body, the table was set, and the tea kettle was on the gas burner, slowly coming to a boil, awaiting to be poured out into a cup of tea. The windows were open and thankful, swinging cheerfully in the warmth and light; the house was swept clean and vibrant, fully furnished and glistening and dancing with the shadows cast from the fire burning steadfastly. The vacant house was no longer vacant, it was alive, it was thankful.

The next morning came eagerly, and the house was clean, furnished, and vibrant still: yet the faithful explorer was nowhere to be found, for she had gone away at the third watch of night and vanished back into the unknown forest. Even still, there is thankfulness and the vacant house waits patiently.

“I shall make a wonderful home,” thought the vacant house, “even if I am unknown to all it is no matter, for I have a purpose.”

The faithful explorer had gone, and there was no telling where she came from, where she went, or when she would return. The vacant house was content, waiting patiently for the one thing that gave it a chance at life.

---