The old stair well was dark and cold.  On the way up, each board would creak and moan.  The hairs on my skin would stand up tall and my mind thought things I should not know.  At the top, there was a door—turn the knob and the fear was gone.

The room was light and full of space, with dabs of white, red, green and blue.   A large place made for the kids to play, run, nap, and dream.  Like clay to the mold and paint to the brush, this was the place to be if one were three or four.  Some books, toys, chairs, and a couch to fill the place.  But to get here, meant I had to go up the old stair well.

My first years were spent in that room, it was the bright spot of my days.   Light and love came to my heart and I smile when I think back in time.  I met peers who felt its charm and too think back with much praise.  There is one thing to which we can all point; the odd sense we felt when we went up the old stair well.

Years have come and gone, and I went back to see, the room on that side of the door.  The old stair well was still dark and cold and each board still gave a creak and a moan. But this time, I felt no fear as I went up the stairs, just a sense of home.

The knob a bit tight, and yet it did turn and gave way to the sight of the old room. The cob webs have grown. The reds, blues, and greens are now dull, and the toys and books are all but gone. An old chair still sat by the wall and the light still made the room bright and warm.

Tears fall. I close my eyes. I think back to how it once was.  I say out loud, “I love this place, just up the old stair well.”


This was written for GBE2 writing group.  This week’s challenge was to write something using all single syllables.  Phew. I think I did it?  We’ll see :)