Ruminations Among the Ruination

The house was still half-built, half-destroyed. It had never been completed and for every few hours of work I put into repairing it, it seemed like something new broke, or nature won another victory. Yesterday, a long brick wall that lined the dining hall had been infested with ivy and crumbled into separate piles of rubble strung together like sad Christmas tinsel by twisting vines.

A couple of other travelers had passed through but they were gone now. They might return, I thought they would, but I didn't know when. By Halloween? By Thanksgiving? Before the great snows came? I wanted them to return but I had a hard time speaking up when they were here. It was hard being crazy and anti-social but craving company and help I would never accept. My fingers never betrayed me in the ways my mouth did.

I had grand visions of keeping this house alive. It had strong ancient bones and stories written into the complex stonework of its foundations.

Okay but how do your resuscitate a dead house?

Send out invitations?