While digging in the mortar-sanded soil around the Old House last week, I found the shards of the broken attic window. This is one of the panes from the original window from 1818, I'm sure. As a child, in the gloaming, perhaps after being in the Old House by myself, I would walk backwards away from the House, my eyes focused on the attic window. I am sure I saw eyes staring back at me. Surely, there was someone up there. A ghost of a long-ago ancestor. I felt the spirit, the soul of this person that I am linked to, but never knew. Perhaps we will meet in another world.
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