There is solace to be found in an empty house. Solace in the creaking floorboards, audibly hosting an invisible orchestra. Solace in the broken windows, allowing the input of neighboring birds’ chirping, toads’ croaking, and insects’ buzzing. Solace in the lonely bed, squeaking under the weight of its lone inhabitant. Solace in its inhabitant, as he silently observes the symphony of nature.
However, the peaceful house exudes cacophony. From the outside, its broken windows frighten onlookers. Its squeaky door is a nuisance to pedestrians and school buses. The overgrown grasses and shrubs appear to plague the front yard, and thus incessantly annoy passers by.
Storms batter its rustic exterior, creating cracks and dings and dents and holes. Pests intrude, walls collapse, and festering mildew proliferates. But nonetheless, its inhabitant perseveres, blissfully enjoying la maison de la Terre.