My neighbors Buddy and Bob invited me this morning to go to the Woodbury Flea Market. It was 39 degrees. As we returned towards Waterbury, Bob saw a sign for an estate sale and we drove to it. It was a small ranch house on a country road. I walked through the house looking for anything of interest. Everything was strewn about, people were traipsing through the rooms, now nearly empty with faded old carpeting. I didn't find anything to buy and I waited for Bob and Buddy to finish their search. That's when a creeping, discomfort came over me. I realized all around me were someone's recent personal belongings. I felt like an intruder invading this house with all the others. Whose house was this? What happened that they had to relinquish all they owned? Did they lose it to bankruptcy? Dementia? Old age? Death? I didn't want to be inside any longer. I walked back to the car and waited for my friends, the cold air clearing my mind from the despair of this sad house. Bob returned with a broken clock he intends to repair and Buddy with a plant he saved.
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