Deep within the woods of a dark and unknown forest, hidden beneath the ever-entangling vines, there sat a house made of stone. Alone was the house made of stone, tucked away in an strange location hitherto not known to any mortal man, yea, only to the beast and bird who constantly roamed therein and perched thereby on its rough cold stones. The wind would howl shrill cold shrieks of despair that sent shivers of gales through the vacant house, bursting open its fragile wood windows, and sending billows of dust clouds through the chimney and out the door. Sturdy was the vacant house; its foundation of stone proved to be trustworthy, reliable, and strong. Even still, it’s fireplace lay alone, with no spark to give it life, no wood to fuel energy, and no fire to warm a broken heart. A crow flies over the house and sees the vacant house from above: it is fortified and robust, yet it is dark, cold, and alone.

The crack of tree branches being snapped in twain echoed throughout the dark unknown forest and small boots stomped courageously over the dead brush and twigs that filled ground of the unknown forest’s soft bottom. 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: she had to get away. Anxious was she in the presence of a multitude her feign smile notwithstanding, yet happy was she to sit in the silence, listening to her voice sing melodic sonatas into her attentive ears. Feelings of despair rushed over the faithful explorer as she grappled loathing by the throat and shook it violently:

“there has to be a better way,”

she thought. Nevertheless, despair loomed large, and surging like a vulture after its dead prey, it swooped viciously, overwhelming our hero to the point of death. Tears rolled like waterfalls as she choked violently on her own breath, her face buried between her knees. There was no going back, and hence, into the unknown she wandered, trusting she knew not whom, but trusting nonetheless.

She lifted her torch high above her head, revealing her tear stained cheeks 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 slowly, yet meticulously planning every step as if she was learning a new dance number, her heart began to race.

“What a queer place to build a house,”

thought she, as she began walking more briskly, excited to see what was inside. Thereupon did she look in excitement, as 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, nay, not even in dismay did she look thereby, 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. Thereupon did she begin 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 in love. A noble task indeed, and one equally as satisfying.

A crow flies over over the house and sees the vacant house from above; vacant it is no more, yea, 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 works of her hands. The fire was ablaze, sending rays of warmth throughout her body like shocks of electricity; 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 and 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 in the queerest of locations, still unknown to all moral life, save the faithful explorer, and it is proud.

“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.”

Only, the faithful explorer had gone, and there was no telling whence she came from, whither she went, or when she would return thither; even still, the vacant house was content, waiting patiently for the one thing that gave it a chance at life.