the light in the basement

there's a light on in the basement next door. 

his grandmother turned it on in the latter hours of the evening, and when she forgot one night...it stayed on. no one questioned her. no one alerted her. and it outlived her.

it outlived the equally aged couple next door, the retired man across the street, and the presence of several neighbors. 

and then he came, the grandson. but the light remained, no matter what. 

winter came, with its icy fingers, and the window fogged up. ice covered the pane, and maybe the heart of the man exploring the basement, as he seemed rather reclusive.

but the light glowed.

and as winter turned to spring, and spring to summer, the flowers along the foundation bloomed. ivy appeared and climbed the chimney's face. peeled paint chips fell into the grass below. and the house aged. 

as summer baked the sidewalks, and children took to the garden hose, the grandson, rather than sitting on his porch, disappeared. his line of boots, shoes, and sandals remained near the back door. 

it is July, and the stars reign high in the night sky. but it is silence that pervades the neighborhood. another death, and sadness hides behind several doors. 

but there's a light on in the basement...still.