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The Farmhouse with a face

It judged, of course it must, but never harshly. It judged the way old souls do; by noticing. The hurried cars, the slow walkers. The farmhouse hoped for a glance back. It noticed who waved and who looked away, and it winked at those who lingered in quiet wonder.

Years carved it with wisdom, each storm passing like a lesson learned. To some it looked stern; to others, inviting. It watched patiently, stood confidently, and gave what only time can offer,

a steady presence, a silent understanding, and the reminder that being seen matters, even if only for a moment.

https://americankahani.com/perspectives/the-narcissist-immigrant-and-the-abused-dependent-spouse-a-plea-to-reform-the-system