81 years old.

81 years of memories.
81 years of smiles, laughter, competition.

The creaky oak floors,
Saturated with the footsteps
Of its 81 years’ worth of occupants.
The young and the old pitter-pattering
Across the hand assembled surfaces.

Size four to size fourteen, it knows all,
Always groaning its warm welcome to those
Who tread across it.

Braided rugs cover,
The 81 years of scars from love, hate and
All of emotions falling in between.
The colors are an artful mirage,
A mingling of red and green wool.

They bask on a bed of earthy tan wood.
The grains holding within them
Secrets shared, meals made, and lives lived.
Moments of the past
Laying down the pathway to the future.

It has been a loving home for its inhabitants,
For 81 years.
And for now, it’s ours.