152 Bennett Street

I believe that if a place can be cursed, another can be blessed. The numbers on the doorpost stamp our house with an identity; they ward off night and pull in the lost - pull in the wayfaring, shipwrecked souls into a kind tide, one with welcoming and ushering arms in the middle of an obscure tempest. I hear sweet words around this house. The wildflowers outside never die, and the souls of the saints who lived here never left; their prayers are embedded in the woodwork, in the very framework. The air is light, and the church next door smiles kindly at us. The bell tolls its blessing.

a/n. Pay no mind to the street name because I just picked it. (Bennett: Latin for benedictus, meaning blessed.)