Times Long Past [Incomplete]

    I watch a single yellow leaf make its decent from the tree it once called home.  Beyond the seemingly unending  grove of trees, I happen upon a peculiar site.  A solitary, lonely house, dilapidated from years of harsh and unforgiving weather.  The paint is faded and cracked on its melancholy blue exterior.  Its shingles worm from an unrelenting onslaught from Mother Nature's seasonal furies.  As I scan my surroundings further, I see no obvious pathway leading into the woods.  It seems this refuge was abandoned long ago by its inhabitants.  I continue onward, hearing the faint groaning of the foundation; distant cries urging me closer.  When I finally take my first step onto the run down porch, my hand loosely grips the ghost of a banister.  It runs over the course texture as each footstep causes creaky wails of joy from the steps, they seem to welcome my presence. I notice a peculiar shape from my periphery, turn my head, and see the rotten remains of a rocking chair.  Although, unable to rock any longer, I still see it tilting back and forth as an elderly gentleman watches children playing in the yard, while he smokes on his pipe.  I choose not to linger too long on the porch, the din from within the house requires my immediate attention.  As I reach the door, a sudden doubt washes over me.  Just as I begin to turn around and abandon my exploration, a cacophonous squeak from within pleads I come inside.  Immediately, all doubt leaves me and I return to the door; a gate at the threshold of the past.  My hand meets the cold, rough doorknob.  While it now shows years of rust and grime, the grandeur it once proudly displayed glimpses through.  With an appreciative screech, the door swings open.  Greeted by a hallway dimly lit by the large windows covered with thick layers of dust, a rush of air gently pushes me forward.  At my feet, a frayed carpet indifferently requests that I remove my shoes.  Yet, it knows of its disrepair and cuts itself short.  I walk across the carpet and come to a crossroad.  On the right, a set of barren stairs beckon me upward.  On the left, a hallway leading to a void of darkness attempt to coax me further.  Stopping to consider, Robert Frost wells up in my mind.  However, these thoughts are quickly tossed asunder by the voice of reason.  "When you have all the time in the world, why not take both paths?"  I pull out my cell phone to try to light my journey into the abyss hallway, the upper floor can wait for me.  The dull light emanating from my cellphone barely lights my way.  Moving the light around, I spot a continuous set of scenes, barely discernible from years of deterioration, which are then punctuated with a portrait.  Several sets of gloomy eyes softly gaze at me from the wall.  I bring my light closer to inspect the owners of the stares.  A couple now gaze forlornly into the distance, now avoiding my eyes.  The woman, seated in front of her partner, showcases years of strife; each wrinkle on her face tells a story of her struggles.  Her partner, who stands faithfully behind her with an air of pride, almost hides the faint smile tugging at the corner of his lips.  A long and winding scar displays his valor boastfully.  Entranced by this painting, moments meld and I begin to lose task until a fit of moans from the house beseeches me to give it the same affection once more.  Continuing forward the hallway's unwavering path, an opening in the wall invites me inside.  An expansive  room furnished with a scuffed wooden floor, and a piano in one corner.  Enormous windows allow little light to seep through, although still enough to add a vague atmosphere.  My steps echo off the walls, and the piano softly accompanies my steps in time.  As the tempo picks up pace, party-goers fill the room dancing, smiling, and laughing; the room filling up with warmth all the while.  I snap to reality as I approach a wall, streaked wallpaper showing the tears shed from its desolation.  Slowly trudging out of the room, I continue my sojourn.