What the Planks Remember
Aged oak, weathered and
worn, the creaking planks give
easily
under our weight.
Decades catching every
foot and paw print that
walked together, grain
by grain.
A familiar hello, a whisper:
don’t go, or simply,
you are not alone.
Warmed by the gentle hum of
the heater.
Cooled by the sigh of air.
Continuously shaped by
expansion and contraction,
learning to adjust and endure
both.
Windows and doors invite the
sun
and moonlight in, calling
you gently awake, lulling you
back to sleep.
This is a place that trusts
what lives inside.
The roof sings in spring rain,
eaves carve ice through
winter snow.
Each decade echoes warmth
and laughter,
holds pain and tears,
proudly displaying its scars,
holding space with steady
care,
year after year.
—FromTenderGround 🧡

I love the idea that a well-loved home carries the imprint of everyone who has passed through it. Not just their footsteps, but their stories too. X
Feels reassuring